


Eris Throws More Apples

by Aurelia_Combeferre



Series: A Coterie that Became Historic -the 1830s AU [13]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Adoption, Assassination Attempt(s), Attempted Murder, Child Neglect, Diplomacy, Espionage, F/M, Fake Marriage, Family Law - Freeform, German unification, International Law, Italian Unification, Partitions of Poland, Politics, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy, Refugees, Risorgimento, Romance, carlist war spain, zany schemes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:28:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 98
Words: 224,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25629736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurelia_Combeferre/pseuds/Aurelia_Combeferre
Summary: The events of the summer of 1842 turn Paris into the next diplomatic battleground, as Europe's most powerful states try to broker new alliances with fledgling ones (such as an Italy under unification). Enjolras, Eponine, Feuilly, Marius, and most of their large coterie find themselves in the midst of managing this firestorm of diplomats, intriguers, and fugitives all in one city. It seems simple enough, until a certain ex-innkeeper turned conman is released early from prison, and seeks to return to the Enjolras-Thenardier family, regardless of the cost.
Relationships: Bahorel/Bahorel's Laughing Mistress (Les Misérables), Bossuet Laigle/Original Female Character(s), Combeferre (Les Misérables)/Original Female Character(s), Cosette Fauchelevent/Marius Pontmercy, Enjolras/Éponine Thénardier, Feuilly/Original Female Character, Grantaire/Original Female Character(s), Jean Prouvaire/Azelma Thénardier, Joly/Musichetta, M. Thenardier/Aunt Gillenormand
Series: A Coterie that Became Historic -the 1830s AU [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/279021
Comments: 566
Kudos: 21





	1. An Unplanned Addition

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Here we go again! There is no way that one summer would be enough to wrap up the consequences of “Letters to Ithaca”. Please read that first before proceeding with this one. 
> 
> This fic is set from 1842 to 1843, some 10 years after “When Apollo Met Persephone”, and a few weeks after the closing of “Letters to Ithaca”. 
> 
> I do not own any of Victor Hugo’s characters or historical figures. I just like thinking of “what ifs” involving them. Nor do I own the different songs, poems and folklore quoted here—they all belong to their respective countries. I have also taken plenty of liberties with history: some events of the 1840s take place differently, and new ones occur as a result of the events of the previous stories.

**Chapter 1: An Unplanned Addition**

Although the Latin Quartier was not the most sedate nor the most upscale of the neighborhoods of Paris, it still had a way of becoming home for some of its denizens even years after university life was a mere memory. ‘ _It also helps that so many friends are close by,’_ Eponine thought one warm summer day as she walked to the Rue Ferou. Even though she would have preferred to take her time with the intemperate afternoon heat, that was nigh impossible to do when keeping up with the three youngsters she could not let out of her sight. “Laure! Julien! If you’re going to run ahead, don’t leave Etienne behind!” she called to a pair of golden-haired children who had sprinted as fast as they could to the street corner, heedless of the pudgy toddler trying to keep up with them. 

“Maman, it will be walking if we have to wait for Tienne!” Laure, the older of the two, protested, crossing her arms. “And I have to keep Julien out of trouble too.”

“No you do not!” Julien retorted, scowling at his sister. The six-year old pouted as he pulled his floppy golden hair out of his eyes. “Do we have to?”

“Yes you do; you were both that little once,” Eponine chided as she caught up with Etienne, the youngest of her brood. She sighed as she scooped up the auburn haired two-year old, who had insisted on walking ahead of her. “Besides we do not need to be in such a hurry,” she added as she began to dust off Etienne’s clothes, ignoring the child’s fussing at this intervention.

“Being early means we have more time to play with Timothee and Eustache, and maybe Gabrielle too if she wants to join in,” Laure argued.

“Yes but if the Jolys won’t forget their youngest sibling, you shouldn’t either,” Eponine pointed out, balancing Etienne on her hip as they crossed the Place Saint-Sulpice to the Rue Ferou. Even though it had been two weeks since she and Enjolras had collected their rambunctious children from where they’d spent the summer with their grandparents in Provence, she somehow found it more trying to keep up with their unusual energy. ‘ _Which is also another reason to get checked over, especially if it is what I think it is,’_ she decided.

Upon arriving at the Rue Ferou, she found the street rather quiet and bereft of the usual crowd of patients lined up outside her friends’ home. Eponine took a deep breath before knocking twice and then waiting on the sound of footsteps on the other side. “Hello Chetta. Is Joly in now?” she greeted the woman who opened the door.

Musichetta shook her head, stopping to push a wayward curl back behind her ear and then smooth out her dress. “Patrice went to the Bourbe to see some patients, but he should be back soon,” she replied, her deep eyes quizzical as she looked at Eponine and her children. “You all do not mind waiting?”

“It would be nice to wait if we can play too!” Laure chimed in impetuously. “May we, Aunt Musi?” she asked, looking up at Musichetta imploringly.

“Of course you may; my boys are just upstairs but Gabrielle is still having her nap,” Musichetta said gamely. “Besides how could I say no to those eyes?” she whispered to Eponine.

Eponine smiled before setting down Etienne to let him walk up the stairs with her while Laure and Julien trailed behind. “If you’re here, who’s minding the atelier today?”

“Nicholine and I take turns,” Musichetta replied, walking ahead to let them all into the upstairs apartment. “Cosette, look who’s also here to visit!” she called.

“Why, this is a surprise, Eponine,” Cosette greeted from her comfortable spot at the living room’s window seat, where she was reviewing some sketches while Musichetta’s two raven-haired sons were making some of their own on large sheets of paper spread on the floor. Even in her lavender half-mourning garb, the Baronne Pontmercy seemed a regal presence in that familiar apartment. “Shouldn’t you be preparing for that trial tomorrow?”

“If I have to read my testimony another time, I think I might scream,” Eponine said as she found a seat. The very thought of the highly controversial trial of the French double agent Theophile D’Aramitz was enough to make her skin crawl, more so when she recalled the harrowing intrigues that this man had sowed in several states throughout the continent. She glanced to where her children had now pulled Timothee and Eustache Joly into some game of theirs involving clapping their hands to some rhyme even as they went off into an adjoining room. ‘ _To think that several times, we almost left these ones orphaned because of that man,’_ she thought with a shudder.

“I also have to be at that trial too, but it’s not as if I could say anything much to what happened,” Musichetta said with a frown. “But aside from that, isn’t it your wedding anniversary with Enjolras today?” she asked Eponine.

“Yes, and I haven’t forgotten.”

“Shouldn’t you be preparing for that?”

‘ _Because there is something just as important that Antoine and I need to talk about too,’_ Eponine thought, biting her lip. “I just wanted to talk with either Joly or Combeferre about something medical,” she said at length.

Cosette snorted as she looked at her best friend. “Ponine, you have a hand on your stomach. I think we can guess what it is already,” she said mischievously.

“What?” Eponine asked, only to feel heat flood her face as she looked down and saw that she had her gloved right hand resting below her navel. “How did you---”

Musichetta burst out laughing. “I knew it! You and Enjolras couldn’t keep your eyes _or_ your hands off each other in Venice or in Rome, and I guess the same in Florence too! Were you two actually _trying_ for another child?”

‘ _It probably happened in Rome,’_ Eponine thought even as she shook her head vehemently. “I cannot believe you guessed.”

“Remember that night when Patrice and I had to help get one of the ambassadors into a drunken stupor?” Musichetta said, putting her hands in her lap. “We had to talk _loudly_ before he asked too many questions about who else was hiding in that apartment.”

“Chetta!”

“You two had fun; you have no idea how terribly boring that man was!”

Cosette rolled her eyes knowingly as she began to rearrange the sketches she had on her lap. “What happens in Rome does not stay in Rome then. But why is it such a terrible thing, Ponine?”

“Four children in ten years,” Eponine muttered, only to see Cosette look at her querulously. “I know you have four children too, Cosette, but that’s perfectly fine with you and Marius!”

“I do not have siblings, and Marius grew up alone. We didn’t want a quiet home,” Cosette said. “I understand that you and your four siblings was a lot to handle in your family’s situation years ago, but you’re not your mother, Ponine. Far from it.”

“Oh please, Eponine. You and Cosette are the same age. It was bound to happen,” Musichetta retorted. “And the way that you and Enjolras _still_ look at each other?”

“I’m the only woman who has that effect on him, and thank goodness for that,” Eponine pointed out even as she heard the apartment door open. “I’m here for a medical consult, Joly,” she said sheepishly on seeing Musichetta’s husband enter.

Joly took a moment to wipe down his spectacles. “Is this because you have missed your monthly flow, and you suspect you are expecting?” he asked.

Eponine’s jaw dropped, only for her to realize that once again she had a hand on her midsection. “Is it really that obvious?”

“Not really, but it is an educated guess from years of friendship,” Joly said. “Aside from that, have you had any other symptoms?”

“Being a bit tired and also feeling queasy in the mornings. That happened with the older three,” Eponine confessed. “If the last time I had my flow was in June, on the day that most of us left for Florence, then how far along am I?”

“The twelfth or thirteenth,” Musichetta supplied. “I remember going to a show that night.”

“Just under two months then, and right about the time for the first manifestations to become apparent,” Joly said. “This seems to be a consequence of out of town trips----”

“Patrice!” Musichetta hissed, nudging her husband. “Must you mention that?”

“Mention what?” Cosette and Eponine asked.

Musichetta’s cheeks turned red. “It’s a bit of a jest that each time any of us ladies in our little group goes out of town, someone comes back expecting.”

“What?!” Eponine sputtered. “Who’s making that joke?”

“Patrice and myself, and of course Bossuet and Marthe, Nicholine and Grantaire, Therese and Bahorel, and a few other ladies at the shop,” Musichetta confessed.

Cosette burst out laughing. “I could see why. The year before Lucille was born, Marius and I spent quite some time in Vernon to make a memorial for his father.”

“That was just one time, Cosette,” Eponine pointed out. “A single incident isn’t exactly a pattern or enough to mean anything.”

“You, Ponine, came back pregnant with your son Julien after you and Enjolras went to Rheims several years ago.”

“We _were_ trying then!”

“Then you had your other son Etienne after the summer your entire family was in Aix,” Cosette added. “It makes sense, since when we’re out of town with our husbands, there’s much less to interrupt time together.”

Eponine could only sigh at the truth in these words. “I s’pose there was some betting on it?”

“Only a little,” Joly said, motioning for Eponine to hold out her wrist so he could take her pulse. “At this early stage there is little to examine. What is good is that you do not exhibit any signs of pallor. You do not have any pains or faintness?”

Eponine shook her head. “A good thing I do not, or you would suggest that I be exempted from testifying at the trial.”

Joly sighed deeply. “As to that, I hope it goes quickly so that you will not take the stand longer than you have to. The stress of course would not be good for you or the child.”

‘ _I don’t think I can rest easy till even Antoine is done with his own testimony, and his is the most damning of all,’_ Eponine thought even as she took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she said as she looked at Joly and then at Cosette and Musichetta. “I will tell Antoine tonight of course, and maybe Azelma and our brothers soon. But please don’t tell the rest just yet.”

“Your secret is safe with us,” Cosette promised. “Joly is right though, you should try to keep your mind at ease. Once this awful court scene passes, you’ll be able to focus on this new baby.”

“Speaking of babies, where are our own?” Joly asked before a door banged open. “There you are my boys! Where is your sister?” he greeted as Timothee and Eustache piled into his arms.

“Gabbie is sleeping,” Timothee announced. “I had to tell Etienne not to wake her up.”

“He wanted to also sleep in the cradle too,” Laure explained, now making her appearance with her own brothers in tow.

“I see. I s’pose it’s time for your nap, _petit_ ,” Eponine cooed, holding out her arms for Etienne. “There, there, I know you’re tired.”

“Sleepy, Maman,” Etienne pouted, sucking his thumb as he rested his head on her shoulder.

‘ _It’s not going to be long till I have another little one to carry like this,’_ Eponine thought, bouncing her younger son slightly to soothe him. “We have to go home now so I can prepare a good dinner for all of us and especially your father,” she informed her older children.

Julien looked at her quizzically for a moment. “Maman, if you had to see Uncle Joly, are you sick?” he asked worriedly.

“Julien you silly! Maman isn’t sick, she’s having a baby,” Laure said, shaking her head.

Eponine stared at her daughter in disbelief. “Laure, where did you hear that?” she asked.

“I didn’t hear it, I remember how it was before Tienne was born,” Laure said, standing up straight with a confident smile on her face. “You had to see Uncle Combeferre that time, and it was because you were sick in the morning like you were just today.”

‘ _She’s really so bright,’_ Eponine thought, looking to where her friends were desperately trying to keep from bursting into laughter. “Well now you know. But I need to be the one to tell your Papa myself. Can you keep quiet till then?” she said, crouching to look both children in the eye.

Julien nodded solemnly. “Yes, Maman.”

“What can I say, they are definitely yours,” Cosette laughed. “You, my dear goddaughter, are very observant,’ she said to Laure.

“Grandmother says that nothing gets past me,” Laure said. “That was because I caught Grandfather having bonbons when he wasn’t supposed to!”

“And we’ll tell that story some other time!” Eponine laughed, knowing all too well when her eldest child was about to launch into another round of storytelling. After a few more minutes, she took leave of her friends and then brought her children back home to 9 Rue Guisarde.

Almost as soon as they arrived at home, Eponine took off her gloves, set down Etienne for a nap and left the older children to their own devices. ‘ _I should have just enough time to get everything on the stove before Etienne wakes up and everyone else comes home,’_ she thought as she cut up eggplants, peppers, tomatoes, and zucchini. She placed all of these into a pot with olive oil, water and some spices, and then left everything to simmer over a low heat. “The ratatouille will take care of itself, now the rissoles,” she whispered as she sat down to begin making a mixture from yesterday’s cold chicken and bits of ham as well as some crumbled bread and milk left over from breakfast. She quickly set some mushrooms to boil before chopping them up to incorporate into the meat mixture. ‘ _This was Maman’s idea, now for something of my own,’_ she decided as she got some flour and eggs to begin making dough to wrap the meat in later. The feel of kneading and rolling dough onto the tabletop was always enough to calm her racing mind, something which she was glad for on this day.

Just as she was cutting up the dough into circles, she heard some sharp words from upstairs followed by stomping footsteps on the stairs. Eponine sighed deeply on seeing Laure burst into the kitchen, her face completely red with frustration. “What’s the matter, _petite_?” she asked, looking up briefly from her cooking.

The little girl pouted as she sat on the floor. “Maman, did you and Aunt Azelma always have to share a room when you were little girls?”

“I s’pose we always have, when we had a roof over our heads,” Eponine replied, taking a moment to blink away the images of hovels and tenements that suddenly came to mind. “That only stopped when we lived on the streets, or when your aunt moved in with your Uncle Jehan.”

Laure cringed. “Does that mean I have to share a room with Julien till I am bigger? His things are getting everywhere---”

“They’re not!” Julien exclaimed, now rushing into the kitchen. He tugged on Eponine’s skirt. “Maman, her books are _everywhere_!”

“So are your clothes and those puzzles you got for Christmas!”

“You put everything on the tables and even your bed!”

“Laure, Julien, stop that arguing this instant,” Eponine said sharply as she put her hands akimbo. She cursed under her breath as she saw dough sticking to her dress. “It’s clear that _both_ of you have some cleaning up to do before dinner,” she said more calmly to the now wide-eyed duo.

“But there isn’t enough space!” Laure whined.

“Put your things on your side of the room, and let Julien do the same to his,” Eponine suggested. “And your clothes should be either in the drawers or in the basket for the laundress.”

Julien wiped his own hands on his trousers. “And what about the toys?”

“You already know what to do with them, Julien,” Eponine pointed out. She bit her lip as she watched her children leave the kitchen, both of them continuing their argument but in more subdued voices. ‘ _Things are different here, and not like when Azelma and I were still living with our parents,’_ she told herself as she continued with her cooking. Once the rissoles were properly wrapped in pastry and then fried, she gave the pot of ratatouille a good stir just to make sure the vegetables would be cooked evenly. ‘ _With these three already being such a handful, can we manage a fourth?’_ she wondered as she headed upstairs to check on the youngsters.


	2. What Fathers Do

It had taken Enjolras the better part of the two weeks since his arrival from his diplomatic mission to get through the mountain of paperwork that had piled up during his absence. ‘ _Finally, I can actually see my desk,’_ he thought on the afternoon of August 4 as he sat in his office at the Palais de Justice, editing an affidavit for a case he had been asked to take almost as soon as he returned to work with the Ministry of Justice. ‘ _If it wasn’t for the subpoena to Citizen D’Aramitz’s trial tomorrow, the time would be better served by a visit to the client,’_ he thought as he set the document out to dry even as a knock sounded on the door. “It’s unlocked,” he called absent-mindedly.

“I see you have a moment,” Bahorel’s voice boomed a moment before the senior detective entered the room. Following fast on his heels was none other than Gavroche, also in the garb of a detective of the Prefecture. Bahorel shucked off his heavy coat before plopping down in the lone spare chair in the office. “Were you among the magistrates consulted regarding the new clemency measures for our prisons?”

Enjolras nodded as he got to his feet and motioned for Gavroche to take the chair he had been occupying. “That was at the end of March, before I left for Spain and Italy.”

“Well you know that the measure was passed towards the end of June, and the implementing guidelines drawn up since,” Bahorel said. He handed over a paper to Enjolras. “This is the unfortunate result.”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed as he read through the document, which turned out to be a list of convicts who now qualified for release from the penal system after having kept up with conditions of good conduct while incarcerated. Some of the names he recognized from cases that had been decided on from prior to the 1832 Revolution. Towards the bottom of this list a name printed there had him raising an eyebrow: _Nicolas Thenardier_. “This list is verified?” he asked.

“As sure as the sky is blue,” Gavroche said with a scowl. “I don’t know how he even qualifies; wasn’t he supposed to be deep in the jug?”

“Yes, but he turned state witness, which took quite some time off his sentence even before this ruling was passed. Since he was merely an accessory and not actually in commission of the crime, he does not fall under the same classification as those with high crimes necessitating life imprisonment,” Enjolras said. He gritted his teeth at the recollection of his father-in-law’s cooperation with a former Prefecture agent turned vigilante; that sordid chain of events had resulted in the deaths of several former prisoners and their families, and also resulted in Gavroche being very seriously injured in the line of duty. “Nevertheless, two years is still a very short time to qualify for this. I would not put it past him to be in league with a warden at this point.”

“You know how my old man is,” Gavroche pointed out. “Since he’s made his mug clean somewhat, he now can go walk because of the new rules.”

“This was not something that you considered when you were consulted for this measure?” Bahorel asked cautiously.

“This clemency was primarily to help the penal system become more of a reformatory as opposed to a penitentiary,” Enjolras answered. “When does he go free?”

“This week,” Bahorel shook his head with dismay. “The question is, will you tell Eponine about it?”

“She has to know. Her and Azelma at least. As for Neville and Jacques, that topic will have to be broached carefully.” Enjolras handed the list back to Bahorel and clasped his shoulder. “You must take some additional precautions,” he advised Gavroche.

“He does not try the exact thing twice, so he would have to make a new net to catch me,” Gavroche said with a grin. “Whatever you do, do not let him near the _momes_. I should go up to the Prouvaires to warn them, since he’s likely to go there first,” he added more seriously.

‘ _Because Azelma has the most lenient view regarding her father,’_ Enjolras thought. After some minutes of small talk, the two detectives headed off to the rest of their work, leaving Enjolras to his own thoughts. ‘ _Of all days to have to give bad news,’_ he mused, looking down at the wedding ring he had been given exactly nine years to the day.

By five in the afternoon, Enjolras had already closed up his office for the day and was now heading to the area of the Sorbonne. He stopped by a shop to pick up a package he had sent for some days ago, and then went to a café where he immediately caught sight of two tall boys having a lively discussion over brioches and coffee. “It’s time to head home, gentlemen. Did you accomplish everything for today?” he greeted his younger brothers-in-law.

Neville grinned as he held up a thick envelope. “All my papers are in order, and some of the professors have given out their syllabi early.” He adjusted his cravat, which he had taken to knotting rather voluminously ever since his own summer adventure in England. “What’s in that box?” the raven haired seventeen-year old asked.

“Something for your sister,” Enjolras deadpanned. He looked to where Jacques, the younger of this pair, was seemingly engrossed in reading a newspaper. “What are you reading on?”

“Well this is the afternoon paper, and there’s news of convicts being let out,” Jacques said. The fifteen-year old wrinkled his nose. “Is that wise?”

“That would depend on many things, including what that person might do once returned to society,” Enjolras replied. He took a deep breath as he regarded the two students. “One of those convicts happens to be your father.”

Neville and Jacques exchanged quizzical looks. “He wishes he were our father,” Neville said after a moment. “If there’s someone I call my father, it’s you. I’m sure Jacques agrees with me.”

Enjolras nodded slowly at this. “Is that so?”

“I don’t remember him, Jacques doesn’t remember him, and I’m sure he doesn’t even remember us since he concerns himself only with our sisters and Gavroche.”

“That is not surprising.”

“It’s not as if we have much money to give him,” Jacques said flippantly. “But what is the worst he can do to us anyway?”

‘ _At this point I am not sure,’_ Enjolras realized; he had never put much effort into figuring out the former innkeeper’s schemes or _modus operandi_ , crude as he knew them to be. “At this time there is no guessing what he would do with his newfound liberty.” 

“Does he even know he has grandchildren?” Neville asked. “I mean he’s probably heard of Laure, Julien, Etienne, and Maximillien, but does he know where to find them?”

“It would be foolish for him to try looking for them. Azelma and Jehan would not let him near Maximillien, and I am sure that you and Ponine would run him right out of the house,” Jacques said to Enjolras.

“Nevertheless, we must do what we can to make sure he does not get near the children, or even near the house,” Enjolras advised. He picked up the newspaper that Jacques had been reading and perused the article for a few moments, finding little detail there about the prisoners or even the conditions for their release. ‘ _A concession to privacy but not necessarily to peace of mind,’_ he thought as he brought out some payment for the boys’ afternoon snack.

By the time they arrived at 9 Rue Guisarde, the bells at the nearby church of Saint-Sulpice were ringing for Vespers. “They ring for the priests’ praying, but they ring for our eating,” Jacques said cheerily as he lengthened his stride to reach the door faster. “I wonder what Ponine has got cooking for dinner. I hope it’s rissoles.”

“A roast chicken would be nice,” Neville said wistfully. “Especially one stuffed with herbs.”

Enjolras opened the gate to the small yard just as the front door banged open. “Papa! You’re home!” Laure shouted as she tried to leap past her younger brothers who were also dashing out the door, only to end up colliding with the back of Julien’s head, and tangling her foot around one of Etienne’s legs. The trio tumbled out the door in a tangle of limbs, each child trying to get out from under the other two. “Now you’ve done it!” Laure screeched at her siblings amid Neville and Jacques’ guffaws.

“You three need to be more careful,” Enjolras said, setting down the package he brought so he could extricate Etienne first. He set the startled toddler on the path before he could burst into weeping and then helped up Julien and Laure. “Where’s your mother?” he asked as he retrieved the package he’d brought.

“Finishing the cooking,” Julien said, gesturing to the house with one hand while he tugged down his vest with the other. “Papa, why must ladies _always_ be first?” he asked, glancing from Laure to their father. 

“You’ll understand when you have a lady of your own,” Jacques snickered.

“Ladies going first is part of being polite, but it is also good for older children to let the little ones go first,” Enjolras explained to both children as they both set themselves to rights. He heard a peal of laughter from the house and looked to see Eponine standing there, her hair already unpinned from its usual updo and flowing down past the small of her back. He quickly closed the distance between them and took her hand so he could press a kiss to her knuckles. “Everything well?” he asked.

Eponine smiled even as her cheeks reddened briefly. “I s’pose so. Come inside, and I’ll tell you more about it, Antoine.”

‘ _Certainly she was not here cooking all day,’_ Enjolras realized even as he stepped into the front hall, where he caught a whiff of the aroma of garlic and herbs lingering in the air. He followed her into their study on the ground floor, where he now handed her the package he’d picked up near the Sorbonne. “As always, I hope this will be useful to you,” he said as he watched her untie the twine holding the box shut.

Eponine opened the box to find inside a new pen engraved with her initials, several bottles of fine ink, and a fresh inkwell. “These are too fine for making drafts of translations!”

“They’re for letters,” Enjolras explained. “After our travels, I am certain you will have no end of correspondence with our new friends and acquaintances.”

Eponine smiled as she set the presents on her desk and then kissed him. “Thank you, Antoine. And happy anniversary. I can’t believe it’s been nine years!” She laughed as she ran her hands through his hair. “What else is new with you today?”

‘ _There’s no two ways around this,’_ Enjolras thought ruefully as he looked her in the face. “Have you read of the new clemency measure that was recently approved for our prisoners?”

“Not yet, but I remember you being consulted about it last March. Is something wrong?”

“The first list of prisoners to be released has been publicized. Your father is on it.”

Eponine’s eyes widened. “Antoine, I know you do not usually joke about such things, but please tell me this time you _are_.”

“I wish this was an actual jest, Eponine,” Enjolras said. “Bahorel and Gavroche showed me the list, and Gavroche should be visiting Azelma now to warn her,” he added, seeing her look down and bite her lip hard.

“This cannot be happening, not now,” Eponine murmured. She grabbed his hand and put it on her midsection. “Not with this one coming next year!”

The words were like a thunderclap to Enjolras’ ears. “Next year?”

“I s’pose we made more than just onion soup and alliances in Rome,” Eponine said shakily. “If the counting is right, then I’m just a little less than two months along.”

Enjolras fought to keep a straight face even as memories of their awkward lodgings in Rome now came to mind. ‘ _If so, then that is hardly a surprise at all,’_ he thought even as he clasped her trembling hands for a few moments till he felt her squeeze his fingers back. “You already know that I would do everything in my power to ensure that your father will not harm any and all of the children,” he promised. 

“That would make _six_ young ones we have to protect now since my brothers are still underaged,” Eponine pointed out. “How are they all going to fit in this house?”

“What do you mean?”

“I think Laure is getting big enough to have a room of her own. She’s almost a young lady and can’t share a room with Julien and Etienne for very long.”

“That is true,” Enjolras concurred, remembering how their children had literally tripped over each other just minutes ago. “Are you suggesting we add another room someplace?”

“It would also keep me from thinking so much about what my father might do.” She managed a slight smile as she squeezed his hands again. “We’d have to do it at some time for this little one as well.”

“Indeed.” He kissed her forehead, feeling her sigh with relief under his touch. “We’ll manage, even with this little surprise,” he said as he touched her stomach once more.

Eponine now smiled more widely. “You think it will be a boy or a girl?”

“We will know what to do either way,” Enjolras pointed out. Inasmuch as he was proud and happy with his two young sons as well as his brothers-in-law, the idea of having another daughter was also very welcome. “What do you think?”

“I s’pose I might dream of him or her soon enough, the same way I dreamed of Laure even before we were married, or Julien and Etienne before they were born,” Eponine replied. She turned at the sound of muffled giggling and footsteps outside the door. “I should let you know that Laure guessed somehow that we’re having a baby. She’s probably told the others by now.”

“Naturally,” Enjolras deadpanned even as he went to open the door. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Laure, Julien, and Jacques all crowded at the level of the keyhole, while Neville stood a little away with Etienne on his shoulders “I believe we’ve had a discussion about eavesdropping?”

“It isn’t eavesdropping if you can hear some of it from outside, Papa,” Laure argued. She looked at Eponine. “Did you tell Papa already, Maman?”

“I already did,” Eponine said. “Now all of you had better wash your hands, since we’ll have dinner soon. You don’t want those rissoles to get too cold, don’t you?”


	3. Men Forsworn

**Chapter 3: Men Forsworn**

Owing to the sheer number of witnesses to be summoned to the trial of the errant diplomat Theophile D’Aramitz, Eponine was advised not to be at the Palais de Justice until after lunch on the 5th of August. ‘ _At least Neville and Jacques agreed to take charge of the children for the rest of the day,’_ she thought that afternoon as she waited for an omnibus, having stopped by the post office earlier that day to send some letters to friends and acquaintances overseas. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of hot coffee wafting through the air from a nearby café; it was the one odor that always turned her stomach whenever she was pregnant. “Just like your sister and your brothers, aren’t you?” she whispered as she finally boarded the omnibus that would take her to the Pont Saint-Michel, in front of the Palais de Justice.

A number of men and women on the vehicle nodded to her as she took her seat. “Going to that awful trial today, Citizenness?” a young lady asked Eponine. “I heard that it is the trial of a man who wanted to ruin France.”

“It’s not as simple as that, Citizenness,” Eponine replied, glancing at the periodical that this woman’s neighbor, a workingman, was perusing quietly. On the front page was a sketch of D’Aramitz, exaggerating the man’s hooked nose and long face. ‘ _There’s a lot that the Home Office and the police found that they won’t let the journalists write about,’_ she thought as the omnibus took on more passengers before clattering towards the Pont Saint-Michel.

By the time she arrived at the Palais de Justice, it was just before one in the afternoon. Immediately she was met by a pair of guards who escorted her to one of the holding rooms set aside for witnesses summoned to court proceedings. ‘ _I wonder who will testify ahead of me?’_ she thought as she tried to make herself comfortable on a creaky wooden chair; this windowless cell held only a table with a lamp in addition to this lone seat. As far as she knew, the witnesses whose testimonies were more detailed or had more impact on the case would be summoned only the following day.

After a few minutes, a knock sounded on the cell door. “Citizenness Enjolras, we are ready for you,” a court clerk called.

‘ _That was quick,’_ she realized as she got to her feet. As she walked to the courtroom, she caught sight of Enjolras also being escorted to one of the holding rooms. She risked a glance in his direction, which he returned with an almost imperceptible nod. ‘ _He knows where to find me later,’_ she thought as she went before the courtroom door.

In all the years she had been called upon time and again to present a testimony or a translation, Eponine found that she could never get used to the feeling of having all eyes seemingly scrutinize her as she crossed the room or took the stand. ‘ _Which is why I can never have a taste for lawyering,’_ she thought even as she was sworn in. The late summer heat only made the hall seem musty with the lingering odor of sweat and stale perfume, only adding to her unease as she took her seat in the witness stand.

The judge, a middle-aged gentleman with a slightly sallow complexion, cleared his throat. “Citizenness, please state concisely how you are acquainted with the defendant,” he ordered.

Only then did Eponine look towards the hook-nosed man who was sneering at her from his seat. D’Aramitz was clad in black as usual, and seemed to have lost some hair, if his graying pate was any indicator. She put her hands on the stand and took a deep breath. “I first was introduced to Citizen D’Aramitz when I stopped here in Paris _en route_ to Venice at the end of May. I met him at the Hotel De Ville, at the diplomatic corps’ home office. We exchanged nothing more than pleasantries, he mentioned that he had met my husband during his trip in Spain, but little more than that. Later, he personally sent me a threat that urged me to leave Rome otherwise he would do some violence at a diplomatic meeting near the Trevi Fountain. After that I only saw him one more time, when he was apprehended and then turned over to the custody of the French embassy.”

The counsel for the prosecution, a young attorney who seemed to be only a few years out of law school, got to his feet. “Citizenness, could you please elucidate for us the exact substance of the threat sent to you?” he asked.

“He said that if we did not leave Rome within the hour, the Trevi fountain would run red,” Eponine replied. ‘ _And it very nearly did,’_ she thought, biting her lip at the recollection of the attack on the diplomats, and how Enjolras had fallen into the fountain during a tussle.

The attorney whistled at this. “Could you detail what happened at your last meeting?”

“I was with my husband at a dinner with some contacts from Rome, when he tried to break in via the kitchen. He was incapacitated by our host’s grandmother, which allowed us to bring him to the French embassy as we were instructed to do. When we got to the vicinity of the embassy, he instigated a shooting that killed two passersby,” Eponine bit her lip again and swallowed hard, aware of D’Aramitz still staring at her. “We had to fight him personally to be able to bring him up to the ambassador himself.”

“Did you encounter any of his other accomplices, Citizenness?”

Eponine swallowed hard if only to hold back the bile that rose to her throat at the mere recollection of the persons she had to discuss, even if briefly. “Citizen D’Aramitz had an accomplice who brought him to Venice; her name was Citizenness Celeste Berlioz. He abandoned her in Venice, where she gave me some papers that I turned over to the officer in charge at the French embassy. Two Englishmen who were also in cooperation with him made some attempts on hurting our party; the first attack in Florence was against my brother in law Jean Prouvaire, the second was directed against my husband and his diplomat companions at the Trevi Fountain. These two men were put in custody of the English consuls after being apprehended.”

The counsel nodded slowly. “Thank you, Citizenness,” he said before turning over the floor for an even more cursory cross-examination from the counsel for the prosecution.

At the close of the cross-examination, the judge nodded to Eponine and then some clerks of court. “Thank you for your testimony, Citizenness,” he said gravely. “Please escort her out, then summon our next witness.”

‘ _If it is indeed Antoine, then this will be a long one,’_ Eponine thought as she quickly left the room. She silently walked upstairs to Enjolras’ office; here she simply took out one of her hairpins and used it to fiddle with the lock and let herself into the room. She took care not to disturb the piles of paper on his desk or throughout the room, but simply settled herself in his seat. As small and cluttered as this space was, it was very familiar and welcoming to her; here were the shelves she had helped him purchase years ago, as well as some of the books and other sundry he had acquired over the years. In this comforting quiet, it was all too easy to let drowsiness catch up to her. ‘ _Just for a little while,’_ she decided as she shut her eyes.

All of a sudden the sound of a key turning in the lock jolted her out of her light sleep. Eponine straightened up in the chair and pulled her hair out of her face just as Enjolras stepped into the office. “This chair is very comfortable, Antoine,” she quipped by way of greeting.

Enjolras smirked knowingly as he closed the door. “I actually do not use that chair often.”

“Because you’re one of the lawyers who goes out and about instead of relying on a clerk or someone to do things for you,” Eponine said as she stood up to help him straighten out some of the piles of paper around the room. “What do you do with these when cases are done?”

“I file them in the shelves. Eventually I will have to find some other use for them, or donate them to the archives,” Enjolras said, indicating the various folios lined up along one wall. He touched her arm lightly. “I take that your testimony went well?”

“I didn’t go too much into details; I think the diplomats would be able to tell more of it,” Eponine said. “And yours?”

“It was more protracted than it should have been, but then again I travelled with that man for several weeks.”

“I think after the diplomats who’ve worked with him for _years_ have spoken up, there will be enough to put him away behind bars for years.

“He’s only one agent among many,” Enjolras pointed out. “But we’ll see if the trial opens up more avenues of investigation.”

‘ _It just might be the top of the barrel,’_ Eponine realized even as she straightened out his cuffs. “I s’pose we should stop by and see Azelma today. I think she’d want to know the news.”

“What about Gavroche?”

“We have to meet him on his weekly holiday, which I think is tomorrow?”

“That should do,” Enjolras concurred as he shouldered his bag. He held out a hand to her. “Shall we?”

Eponine smiled as she slipped her fingers between his and walked with him out of the office. It did not take them long for them to find an omnibus that would take them back across the Seine, to the neighborhood of the Sorbonne. From here it was only a short walk to the Place D’Odeon, a stone’s throw away from the Prouvaires’ residence.

When they reached the family’s apartment on the second floor, Enjolras only had to knock once before the door opened a crack. “Did we come at a bad time, Jehan?” he asked.

“Yes, but I think you two are just what we need here,” Jean Prouvaire said, nodding for them to enter. The poet was in his shirtsleeves, clearly having just arrived home. “Azelma, Maximillien, we have company!” he called over his shoulder.

“It’s not company, it’s family,” Azelma said from where she had been instructing their only child Maximillien with some writing. She sprang from her seat to hug Eponine tightly. “I thought Gavroche was joking, but he wasn’t, Ponine!” she said in her sister’s ear.

Eponine shut her eyes momentarily at her sister’s words that now made the latter’s fright all too clear. “We’ll talk about it. Do you want to come with us to the Rue Guisarde?”

“I think we can talk better here,” Azelma said more steadily, taking a step back to smooth down her lavender dress. “Maximillien, come greet your aunt and uncle for a while.”

‘ _If Zelma is this frightened about our father, then it certainly has something to do with Maximillien,’_ Eponine realized even as she bent to hug her nephew. “What is your mama teaching you?” she asked.

Maximillien grinned, showing off one of his front teeth coming loose. “Drawing! Maman is showing me how to draw a stage.”

“The men call it drafting, but I mostly put what is in my head,” Azelma explained. She glanced to where Prouvaire was rummaging for something in a cupboard before she bent to straighten out Maximillien’s clothes. “My treasure, could you take your drawing into the next room? Maman and Papa just have to talk about something with your Aunt Eponine and Uncle Antoine.”

Maximillien nodded trustingly. “Then dinner?”

“Of course. It’s your favorite,” Azelma said. She sighed as she motioned for her guests to take a seat as soon as Maximillien left the room. “Father showed up at the Odeon today. I only thank God that Jehan was not there.”

“He wouldn’t have gotten past the door,” Prouvaire said over his shoulder. “He shouldn’t have, really, but he talked his way past the stagehands.”

Eponine frowned, trying to imagine this scene, but all she could picture was the old Thenardier in a ludicrous disguise. “What did he say?”

“He started off nice and pleasant, asking about my health and how things were going at the theater,” Azelma replied. “Maximillien took one look at him and got frightened, so I probably should have sent our father out then. I didn’t want to be impolite though.”

“I doubt he was there merely for courtesies,” Enjolras pointed out. “What was his intent?”

“He wanted a place to stay. I offered to help him find a room; you know he isn’t that young anymore,” the younger woman said. “But he insisted on staying here so he could, as he said, ‘ _be a grandfather’_ to my boy.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped. “When he couldn’t even be a proper father to begin with?” she sputtered. She looked at Enjolras, who was rubbing his temples. “You can imagine it?”

“I wish I did not,” Enjolras deadpanned. “Then what happened?”

Azelma rolled her eyes. “The obvious, brother. I told him that I was not having it, and that he would have to leave the Odeon. I had to call the stagehands to remove him.”

Eponine bit her lip, now already picturing the scene that certainly ensued. “Does he know where to find me and Gavroche?”

“I didn’t give him either of your addresses, but it won’t take him long to ask around. And everyone knows how to get to the Rue Guisarde,” Azelma said. She smiled as Prouvaire brought over a full pot of coffee. “That should banish the last of that trouble.”

It was all that Eponine could do to keep a straight face at the aroma that, while welcome at other times, simply threatened to make her stomach turn. “I s’pose I will be fine with just water for now,” she managed to say before her sister could hand her a cup.

Azelma’s eyes widened. “Please make sure you’re giving me a niece this time!”

“Zelma!”

“What? I’ve only seen you turn down coffee for three specific reasons, and those reasons all live in your house.”

Prouvaire looked confusedly at Azelma, then at Eponine and Enjolras. “Do you mean I just lost a bet?” he asked.

“Yes, you did, Jehan,” Azelma said with a grin. “Jehan bet that Nicholine would be in the family way after the trip to Rome. Nearly everyone else bet on you two.”

Eponine cringed even as Enjolras nearly choked on his coffee. “Who is _nearly_ everyone else?” she asked, giving Enjolras a sound thump between his shoulders.

“Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Joly, Bossuet, and Grantaire. I think even Musichetta, Therese, Nicholine and even Marthe are involved,” Prouvaire confessed.

Enjolras was red up to the roots of his hair as he set down his coffee cup and wiped his mouth. “Of all things to place a bet on, it had to be that?”

“I s’pose it is part of the running joke about children being conceived during out of town trips. Musichetta and Cosette explained it yesterday,” Eponine told him. She glanced down at her still flat stomach. “At least this one has quite the story behind him or her.”

“Probably another boy, knowing how things run in this family,” Azelma said nonchalantly before taking a sip of her coffee. “I’ve gotten used to us ladies being outnumbered years ago, even with little Laure around.”


	4. Precarious Positions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for some obvious PTSD and nightmares

**Chapter 4: Precarious Positions**

“No! Please give her back! No!”

This cry, even if rather muffled, was enough to jolt Enjolras back to the waking world, regardless of the fact that he had been sleeping rather deeply only moments before. He sat up to quickly untangle Eponine from the blanket wound around her body from her tossing and turning in their bed. “Eponine, wake up!” he whispered urgently as he shook her shoulders. 

Eponine gasped as she sat up, her eyes growing wide in the half-light before dawn. She took a few shuddering breaths as her gaze finally found Enjolras’ worried one. “Antoine? It was a just a dream, right?” she asked shakily.

“I believe so,” Enjolras replied, gathering her trembling form to his chest as he rubbed the back of her neck to soothe her. After a while he felt her breathing grow more even as her hold on him relaxed a little. “What was it?” he asked, looking her in the face.

“My father. I don’t dream of him, not usually.” She shook her head. “He was here and he took her with him.”

He felt his blood run cold at these words. “Do you mean Laure?”

“No. The baby. Our daughter.” Eponine took another deep breath before shaking her head. “How are we going to protect her? I was so sure we could do it when he was still in prison, but now he’s out, and he’s certain to find us. And God knows what he’ll do with her!”

“Eponine, look at me,” Enjolras insisted, taking both her hands. He lifted her chin and ran a thumb against one of her cheeks to wipe away the tears there. “It was just a dream. Your father is not in a position to do anything of that sort to us or anyone in this family.”

“You don’t know him like I do.” Eponine got out of bed and pulled the blanket around her shoulders as she began to pace their room barefooted. “You remember how he hated Citizen Valjean and did all he could to put him in prison? You remember how he almost got Gavroche killed too, two years ago. If there’s anyone he hates more than them, it’s probably the two of us.”

“Which is why we shall not be caught unawares,” he insisted. Seeing that Eponine was not likely to be coaxed back to get a few more minutes of sleep, he also got out of bed to put on some clothes. “Two days ago, you mentioned something that could help keep your mind off this.”

Eponine nodded slowly, now recalling their conversation. “You want to figure out where to put---” she began before quickly grabbing a basin she had taken to keeping at their bedside. She retched even as Enjolras went to quickly pull her hair back from her face. “You want to figure out that new room _now_?”

“We have some time before work begins for the day,” Enjolras said, rubbing her shoulders as she retched once more. Once the worst of her dry heaving had stopped, he stepped aside to give her room to get dressed while he cleaned out the basin. ‘ _It would be best to do it while all the children are still asleep and we will be undisturbed,’_ he decided as he headed downstairs to find some bread and cheese from the previous evening, as well as some strips of candied citron that they had brought back from Aix. He brought some of this up to their room, just in time to find Eponine already combing out her long hair. “Take your pick.”

She quickly reached for the cheese and nibbled at it. “You remember. Thank you, Antoine.”

“It’s only been two or three years since we’ve last had to do this,” he deadpanned, earning him a weak chuckle before she kissed his cheek. Once he was sure that she was feeling less nauseous, he found a candle to better illuminate their way through the upstairs hallway. They walked quietly past the three other bedrooms occupied by the youngsters before finally coming to the end of the corridor. “Either we lose the upstairs washroom, or we get rid of the storeroom,” he said, noting the two remaining doors here.

Eponine squeezed his arm as she opened the storeroom door; here the family stowed away winter clothes, old trunks and other sundry not used for daily activities. “If we knock out the wall of the closet here, then that makes much more space,” she said as they stepped into the darkened room. She wrinkled her nose and sneezed. “And we need to make that window larger too.”

‘ _This won’t be a room for sharing,’_ Enjolras realized as he went to check the closet that Eponine had pointed out. He could feel the dust beginning to tickle his nose, and it was all he could do to hold back a sneeze of his own. “It does not appear to be integral to the structure,” he observed as he knocked on the closet’s walls. “The partition may have been a later addition.”

“And what if it is what is holding the roof up?”

“Then we have no choice but to build downstairs and lose part of the backyard.”

She frowned at this prospect. “Too bad we can’t simply divide our bedroom; it’s just the right size for us both already.” She went to the storeroom’s tiny window and looked it over. “I s’pose this will be the hardest part to manage. I can imagine how to get rid of a wall, but I don’t know how builders make a window larger in a house like this.”

“We might have to ask the Prouvaires if they can recommend someone, or we ask among friends at the Barriere du Maine,” he suggested as they left the room. ‘ _It will be necessary to take on some more cases or even more writing to cover the expense,’_ he thought even while they went downstairs; him to buy more bread for the household’s breakfast while she got some eggs cooked. It was just as well that the first meal of the day was always a simple affair for their family; on some days it was little more than bread with a pat of butter or some preserves of summer fruit, but on most days they usually managed to get a more substantial repast on the table.

After a rather uproarious breakfast with the children, Eponine went to the study to do some translating while Enjolras went out first to leave a note at Gavroche’s lodgings near the area of the Place Mambert near the Seine , and then to the old marketplace to visit the client he had intended to meet earlier in the week. By the time he was done with the latter call, it was already almost noon. ‘ _The hour for a recess in the court,’_ he reflected as he reached the Place du Chatelet, overlooking the river and the Palais de Justice. He doffed his hat momentarily to wipe some sweat off his brow as he looked around the square, which was crowded at this time of the day. Even as he did this, he heard the bells of Notre Dame toll the hour, the rich ringing seemingly soaring above the hubbub of the crowd in the square.

Having been the last to testify on the first day of the D’Aramitz trial, he had some idea of the gravity of the testimonies that would be presented during the subsequent hearings. “Such as that of the man there,” he said to himself upon noticing a hunched over figure seemingly watching the water. He touched his hat by way of greeting this familiar face. “Good day, Ambassador Belmont.”

“For now,” Luc Belmont said, smiling joylessly at Enjolras. His rich tanned complexion had faded into a pallor, and there were hollows under his once cheery eyes. “I am taking a leave from the diplomatic corps. Perhaps it might be permanent.”

‘ _This was voluntary,’_ Enjolras realized as he looked more closely at his acquaintance, so changed from the ambassador who had animated their trip in Spain. “Are you finished with your testimony already?” he asked carefully.

“Thankfully yes,” Belmont said. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “I thought that returning to Paris would invigorate me, or at least ease my mind. It has served quite the opposite.”

“Court proceedings tend to do that.”

“Did you know that I got no joy from having to testify against a comrade, one who I did consider as a friend? I pray that you never have to go through that.”

‘ _It is probably what the rest of the diplomats subpoenaed to this trial have to undergo as well,’_ Enjolras thought, looking down momentarily before he could voice out this thought. “If Paris brings you no peace, perhaps you may find it in Lyon,” he suggested.

“Ah Lyon, where it all began,” Belmont said as he adjusted his own cravat. “It would be a sin to forget though what my own negligence has wrought.”

“As far as I know, you did your due diligence as an ambassador.”

“If I had stepped aside to simply be his attache and let him be ambassador to Spain, perhaps my dear friend’s daughter would not be an orphan.”

“At the cost of France’s diplomatic ties to that country, as well as our security!” Enjolras pointed out. “You are not responsible for what Citizen D’Aramitz has done, whether in Spain or in other states.”

Belmont looked again towards the Seine. “Now that we are no longer in the courtroom, maybe you could tell me what else he did in the Italian peninsula. I heard that he engineered a number of attacks against your delegation there.”

“That would only be part of the story; the simplest way to put it would be that he was also acting as an agent for the Papal States,” Enjolras deadpanned. There was no way now that he wanted to detail the near-lethal incidents that D’Aramitz had staged in three different cities. ‘ _Not while Belmont is in this state,’_ he decided silently.

The ambassador smiled ruefully. “Perhaps he should have taken up the offer to leave the diplomatic corps and become a member of a lay order. That would have suited him.”

‘ _Which is probably why he felt drawn to working in Spain,’_ Enjolras realized. He clasped Belmont’s shoulder lightly. “Where are you lodging? After you played host to me and my brother-in-law for weeks, it is time that we return the favor.”

“I have taken rooms in the Marais, where I am well provided for. This is appreciated,” Belmont said, now managing a smile. “That is if your lady will not mind playing hostess?”

“I will let you know,” Enjolras promised. After the two men exchanged addresses, he stopped briefly at the Palais de Justice, then returned to the Latin Quartier with every intention of working the rest of the day from home.

When he arrived back at the Rue Guisarde, he caught sight of none other than Gavroche walking up to the house. “Glad to see that you’re early,” he greeted the young detective.

“I’m here for the food,” Gavroche quipped with a grin. “I guess that you and my sister are having another _mome_?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he opened the gate. “What gave you that impression?”

Gavroche chuckled mischievously. “Even a booby with all sense knocked out of him can guess that after Ponine followed you to Venice.”

‘ _We’re never going to live this down,’_ Enjolras thought as he opened the door, just in time to see Laure sliding down the bannister of the front hall stairs. “Laure, I recall we discussed this some weeks ago,” he deadpanned.

Laure nearly started on hearing her father, but she managed to leap off the stairs and land on her feet. “But Papa, you said that when we were at dinner with the Pontmercys, and it was a party that wasn’t at our house,” she said as she dusted off her dress. “But now this is home, and _no one_ was looking till now!”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face, more so when Laure grinned up at him triumphantly. ‘ _We need to find another way to make that point,’_ he thought as he pinched the bridge of his nose while Laure ran up to greet Gavroche. He heard the study door open and turned to look at Eponine. “How have you been?” he asked her.

“Much better now,” Eponine replied, closing the distance between them so she could kiss him. She looked to where Gavroche had now hoisted Laure onto his shoulders. “And you should stay for dinner!” she said to her brother.

“That would depend on your cooking, and how you will swallow the news I’ve got,” Gavroche said. “Where are the other _momes_?”

“Upstairs; Neville is showing the boys how to build a model of that Big Ben clock tower of London,” Eponine replied. “Laure, we need to talk with your uncle Gavroche for a little while. You could bring your dolls down to the front room and play there,” she said to her daughter.

Laure crossed her arms. “When will I be big enough to listen to that?”

“Not for a little while, Laure,” Enjolras said more sternly, going to help Laure clamber to the ground. He sighed as he heard the little girl make a pouting noise. “You’re old enough to amuse yourself already; I know you did so in Aix,” he pointed out.

Laure crossed her arms but seemed to relent after a moment as she looked at Eponine. “Maman, can I have the book I left there yesterday? I like that better than my dolls.”

“I’ve got one better,” Eponine said, going back into the study only to emerge moments later with a hardbound novel. “I think this will do nicely for you, since it does not have any pictures.”

“Really? Thank you Maman,” Laure said before hugging both her parents and then rushing into the next room.

Enjolras opened the study room door wider to let in both Eponine and Gavroche, before taking a seat at the window. He waited till Eponine sat in her usual chair while Gavroche plopped down in the chaise before speaking. “What news?”

“The man who forgot he is my father showed up at a café where I was having lunch with Navet and a few other friends,” Gavroche said, crossing his arms. “He said that Zelma wouldn’t let him stay under her roof?”

“Only for Maximillien’s sake,” Eponine pointed out. “But what did he want with you?”

“He got it in his nut that if he had Claquesous years ago to protect him by night in Pantin, he could have me by day to protect him in Paris,” Gavroche said, slouching in the chaise.

Eponine sighed and put her hands in her lap. “Then what did you tell him?”

“I told him that after he called me a bobby the last time we met that I wasn’t going to do it. But he’s probably going to go poking for you next,” the younger man warned. “You and the boys since he knows they’re in a good place.”

“As minors, they are of little use to him,” Enjolras pointed out.

“It’s not for his today, it’s for when he finally feels too old to be going about,” Gavroche corrected. “If he thinks he can make them believe they should give him a sou, then a franc from time to time, you know what’s going to happen.”

Enjolras shook his head. “The man is nothing to them. They said so as much.”

“Then that’s good, but don’t leave the crows to fall asleep on the walls.” Gavroche looked thoughtfully at his sister. “Don’t let him know of your newest _mome_ either, Ponine.”

“You mean Etienne…” Eponine trailed off before she glared at her brother. “Now who told you about that?”

“I didn’t have to be told, I _guessed_ ,” Gavroche retorted. “And it better be a girl so that you can finally have a little lady.”

“Laure is a lady enough,” Eponine retorted. “She just has to remember it from time to time.”

“Yes, especially around stair bannisters,” Enjolras quipped. He smirked at the aghast look that spread over Eponine’s face. “It’s probably just as well that you didn’t see it, or you would never have gotten her quiet for this discussion.”


	5. The Old Innkeeper

**Chapter 5: The Old Innkeeper**

“Now who else knows? Rather, who else have you two already told?”

Eponine had to pause at Claudine’s question as she set down her glass of water. “My siblings of course, and that also counts Prouvaire too. Cosette was there when I dropped by the Jolys, so I s’pose the Baron knows too. Now you will tell Combeferre the minute he gets back here. I don’t know who else Antoine has told, or who else everyone has told.”

“In short you might say everyone in our rather large family; you know how _no one_ among all of us can keep a secret,” Claudine quipped from where she was dusting off one of the lamps in her family’s living room at Picpus. The older woman sat beside Eponine and squeezed her arm. “And how long have you known?”

“Just two days ago. I know what you’re going to say, it happened on the trip.”

“What happens in Rome does not stay in Rome, not in your case.”

Eponine nodded before bursting out in embarrassed laughter again. “Considering how many of us were on that trip, I s’pose it is no use pretending to keep it a secret.”

“Not at all,” Claudine concurred before waving to Combeferre, who was just entering the room. “Francois, please sit down with Remy and Yvie. Eponine has some good news.”

“I figured. Congratulations to you and Enjolras,” Combeferre said with a knowing grin.

Eponine sighed as she clasped her hands over her middle. “I should have guessed you’d figure it out, medically speaking.”

“Somewhat, but it is more of the fact that I’ve known you and Enjolras for _years_ ,” Combeferre said. “Passionate yet prudent; I take that you two were planning on this new addition?”

“Not right away, but I guess it is better than say, having a child every _year_ ,” Eponine said. She glanced upwards at the sound of a thump from the second floor, where she knew the Combeferres’ two-year old twins were playing. “Sounds like trouble.”

“That cannot be good especially after some quiet,” Claudine said knowingly as she got to her feet. “I’ll call on you some time soon, Eponine. And if you need to rest, feel free to send over any of the little ones at any time.”

“I will,” Eponine said. “Do you have any medical advice for me?” she asked Combeferre.

“Apart from the usual, please do not stress yourself out. That should also go for Enjolras as well,” Combeferre said thoughtfully. “I have to admit that he’s improved over the years, in no small part thanks to you.”

‘ _How is that going to hold now that my father is out of prison?”_ Eponine wondered even as she took her leave of the Combeferres after a few minutes. A quick glance at her pocketwatch told her that it was just past two in the afternoon. From here she walked till she found an omnibus headed to the area of the Faubourg du Temple, where she dropped off a translation she had just finished for a schoolteacher residing in the area. ‘ _I should have time to rest a little at home before getting something for our supper,’_ she thought as she walked to another omnibus stop along the busy Rue du Temple.

As she waited for a vehicle, she suddenly caught sight of a man in a black coat that was ragged at the hems, wearing trousers that were shiny at the knee. His greying hair was combed down to form a fringe under his tall hat, making him seem like a gentleman who had been worn-out by the day’s fashions. This stranger raised his hat slightly to look at her before making a low, almost scraping bow. “My good Citizenness Enjolras, it is an honor to meet you here, of all places,” he said in a very nasal voice.

‘ _I’d know that manner anywhere,’_ Eponine thought, biting her lip. “Stop that, Father. It does not suit you,” she said, raising her chin.

“Ah yes, the lady speaks!” Nicolas Thenardier straightened up as he pulled two quills out of his nose and tipped his hat to show his still full head of dirty grey hair. “Come now, is that how a good daughter greets her father after a long absence?”

“I find it funny that you should call me your daughter, after all these years,” Eponine retorted, feeling her right hand now clenching into a fist. She discreetly looked around for any friendly or familiar face to provide a diversion but found no recourse. “What brings you here to this part of Paris?”

“Now you concern yourself with my affairs,” Thenardier said, now taking a step forward. “You have always been the sensible one among all my children; you always knew your way about. It would not be difficult for you to find some room for an old man in your home!”

Eponine shook her head. “That is not possible. I have not any room.”

Thenardier gaped at her for a moment before bursting into laughter. “You, not having any room? You, who throws grand parties to entertain all the powerful folk of this city! You, who live in a house with two floors, with a fire in each room during the winter! All of that, and you will not even give a corner, a couch, a corner to your own kin? This is the thanks that respectable folk get from their own children!”

“Respectable is another funny way of putting it!” Eponine hissed, now aware of passers-by looking their way. “I’d gladly do well for someone needing help, if that person did not have a hand in getting my own brother almost killed, and talk also of killing me. I do know of that, Father. It came out in the hearing too,” she added more loudly, ignoring the twisting feeling in her stomach.

“That was not me, it was that viper of a detective!”

“A detective that Gavroche and the head of the Prefecture saw with you. I s’pose two count for more than one in this case.”

“You cut an old man deep!” Thenardier cried. “Am I not to even see my own grandchildren? I have heard of them of course, your lively boys and your darling little girl! Such should have been my delights in my old age!”

Eponine shook her head as she looked steadily at him. “I did not have them to please _you_ ,” she spat before turning on her heel to leave. Going back to the Latin Quartier directly was out of the question, not with this man dogging her. ‘ _Another detour then,’_ she decided as she made her way towards the general direction of the Temple.

As she walked she could hear the cadence of Thenardier’s footsteps following hers, continually ringing in her ears even over the hubbub of the afternoon traffic in the Marais. She did not dare glance back over her shoulder, not even when she finally turned the corner into the Rue des Filles du Calvaire. Only then did she break into a run towards the sixth house on this street. She bounded up the steps and pounded on the door. “An urgent visitor, Citizens!” she called frantically.

The door opened slightly. “What sort of disturbance is this, child?” an old woman greeted crossly on the other side.

‘ _Why did it have to be Marius’ aunt?’_ Eponine wondered, glancing to the side just in time to see Thenardier waiting by a lamppost. “It’s an urgent matter, let me in please!”

Celestine Gillenormand sniffed as she smoothed down her thick bodice. “The Baron is at work translating again and the Baronne is not receiving visitors todau.”

“But she is receiving family, dear Aunt,” Cosette called from the staircase. She quickly pulled Eponine into the house and closed the door. “What’s happened? You’re awfully pale.”

“My father is outside!” Eponine blurted out. “He’s out of prison, Cosette, and he’s intent on finding some way to get to me, Azelma, and our brothers.”

Cosette’s eyes widened even as she wordlessly brought her friend into the drawing room. “Nicolette, please get a pot of tea ready. No sugar.” the Baronne told her maidservant firmly. She seated Eponine next to the fireplace before going to the window. “Your hands were cold. That’s never a good sign,” she said over her shoulder.

“Is he still there?” Eponine asked, rubbing her arms.

“Yes, and walking about,” Cosette said. “How you happen to meet him?”

“I s’pose he followed me about or saw me coming and going to Picpus since I just came from the Combeferres. I am sure that he didn’t get my whereabouts from my siblings,” Eponine replied. “For all I know he’s going to wait there all day.”

“I hope not,” Cosette said even as two children traipsed into the drawing room. “Georges, please get your father, and tell him your Aunt Eponine is here. Marie-Fantine, I think we have some macarons in the dining room. Could you please bring some here?” she said to them in a whisper.

“Is something wrong, Maman?” Georges, the older of the two, asked. At the age of nine he looked ridiculously like his father but with a softer mien that was all Cosette’s. “You don’t look well, Aunt Eponine.”

“I’ll be alright in a while,” Eponine said, managing a smile. “Don’t you worry about me.”

“There’s a funny man outside,” Marie-Fantine said. “I saw him walking about. Grand-aunt Celestine said so.”

“Don’t greet him, and please get those macarons,” Cosette said more firmly. “Please do it for me, Marie,” she added.

‘ _That’s never enough for little girls,’_ Eponine observed; she knew her own godchild well enough to expect that later the girl would be asking Cosette for an explanation. “She’s going to ask about that later,” she said as soon as the youngsters quit the room.

Cosette drew the curtains even as Nicolette now returned with a teapot and two cups. “I am never telling my children about him, and I know you understand why. Did he say what he wanted?” she asked in a hushed tone as she poured some tea for both of them.

“To stay with us!” Eponine whispered as she picked up her cup. The fresh aroma of tea was enough to banish the headache she had felt starting up at the bridge of her nose. “Antoine and I would _never_ allow that, even if we had room.”

“Does he know your address?”

“I don’t know. Is it so easy to find?”

Cosette frowned as she took a sip of tea. “Maybe if he knows who to ask. You have held so many meetings and gatherings, and a lot of people know you work from your translating room.” She turned and smiled as the drawing room door opened. “There you are Marius!”

“With the rest of the battalion,” Marius said as he entered, carrying a plate of macarons. With him were Georges and Marie-Fantine, as well as the two younger Pontmercy children Lucille and Jean. Each child had a macaron in hand. “I told them that if they had one now, they had to make do without them for dessert later,” he said to Cosette in an undertone.

“You’ll have to remind Lucille of that later,” Cosette teased, glancing towards where the children were crowding around the piano. “You know how she is.”

Marius sighed knowingly before looking concernedly at Eponine. “Marie-Fantine said that there’s a strange man outside?” he asked the ladies in English.

“My father,” Eponine replied in English. “I am so sorry to have brought him to your door, but I was in the Marais and your house was closest.”

“You’re safer here than letting him follow you to the Latin Quartier; I know that the public magistrates are all busy today and that Enjolras isn’t home,” Marius pointed out. He took a macaron before going to the window and peeking surreptitiously through the curtain. “We cannot have him arrested for loitering on a public street; you can see he’s careful enough to not set foot on our steps, so there is no case there.”

‘ _My father has gotten craftier in prison,’_ Eponine realized as she sipped more of her tea. “How am I to get out of here without him following me?”

“Marius and I are making some calls later; you can go with us in the carriage. It will be easier to lose him then,” Cosette said, reaching for a macaron. “We’ll travel with the shades up, so he cannot catch even a peek!”

“It will be hot, but we’ll be fine,” Marius mused aloud. “By the way, congratulations to you and Enjolras,” he added, looking at Eponine.

“What are you congratulating Aunt Eponine for?” Georges asked, looking up from where he had been tapping his fingers on the piano while Marie-Fantine was testing the keys. “Is it because of what Armand was saying yesterday when he came to visit?”

Eponine started, recognizing the name of her husband’s godchild. “Armand, as in Armand Courfeyrac?” she clarified.

“Yes, he said that he heard from Uncle Courfeyrac that you were having a baby,” Marie-Fantine said, frowning slightly as she played a wrong note. “That’s true, right?”

‘ _Either Courfeyrac must have gotten the news from Antoine, or he might have asked Joly or Jehan,’_ Eponine deduced quietly as she set down her cup of tea. “It is true, Marie.”

Georges frowned. “Another cousin? I mean they aren’t _actually_ our cousins but they sort of are, and now there’s too many of us!”

“When I was as young as you are, I would have given a lot not to grow up alone,” Marius said sagely to his oldest son. “It was a lonely house here when I was younger,” he muttered even as Cosette reached for his hand.

‘ _This house was always too big for its occupants,’_ Eponine could not help thinking even as she now listened to Marie-Fantine playing a simple tune on the piano. She glanced down at her twisted left hand and wiggled her fingers, wishing once more that she had not lost some of the dexterity there. ‘ _But at least my hands are good for other things,’_ she consoled herself even as she saw Marius get up to order the carriage for the trip out.


	6. Making a Scene

It was rare for Enjolras to find himself at liberty whenever he was at the Palais de Justice, but a sudden series of cancellations in his appointments left him with ample time for some reading as well as entertaining the odd visitor to his office. ‘ _Of course in moderation,’_ he mused as yet another colleague closed the door behind him, having dropped in for a quick consultation in the mid-afternoon. No sooner had he stood up to grab another folio of cases from the shelves through did he hear two light knocks outside. “Who’s there?” he called, not looking up from his work.

“Can I come in, Uncle?” a young boy’s voice asked from out in the hall.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow on hearing the voice of his oldest godson. “The door is unlocked, Armand,” he replied as he put the file back in its place. “Where is your father?”

“Arguing with someone so he told me to run down here,” Armand Courfeyrac replied as he walked into the room. At nine years of age he was the spitting image of his father, save for the dimple in his left cheek. The boy flipped his long brown hair out of his eyes before looking at Enjolras. “Are you busy?”

“I can spare a few minutes,” Enjolras said. “Is something the matter?”

Armand shook his head as he stood on tiptoe to get a better look at the volumes on the shelf. “Have you read all these books?”

“Yes, at least once.”

“I think you read more than my Papa does.”

“That’s because we work on different areas of law,” Enjolras explained. “Meaning different kinds of cases,” he added on seeing Armand’s face scrunch with a perplexed look.

Armand nodded slowly as he looked at the books first, then at his godfather. “I thought lawyers have to know everything about law,” he said after a few moments.

“Yes, but most know more about one kind of law than others,” Enjolras pointed out, clapping the boy’s slender shoulders. “Are you thinking of becoming one too?”

“I want to do that, but can I also be a doctor too?” Armand asked, looking up at him. “Can you study to be both of them at once?”

“Not at the same time; you’d have to pick one first, then the other. I do not see why you cannot do it,” Enjolras said. ‘ _If so, he’d be among the few in France with such accomplishments,’_ he thought even as he heard another set of footsteps hurrying towards his office door.

“Thank you for having Armand here for a while,” Courfeyrac said as he entered, stopping to ruffle his son’s hair with one hand while keeping his other arm around the folios he carried. “You do not have any hearings today?”

Enjolras shook his head. “My client for today preferred to settle,” he said. While he had to admit that out of court arrangements were expeditious and practical, he still could not completely reconcile himself to the idea of abandoning the reformative aspects of the law in favor of keeping a case from going to trial. ‘ _For some, justice is something that can be assigned a monetary value,’_ he thought with disdain.

Courfeyrac whistled as he set down his own papers on a chair. “I believe that congratulations are in order, my friend,” he said, grinning at Enjolras. “That will be quite a remembrance of that Roman holiday.”

“I would hardly call what transpired as anything close to restful,” Enjolras deadpanned, desperately hoping that Armand did not pick up on the double-entrende, but the boy seemed undisturbed with reading through a book he had pulled from the shelf. “Who told you?”

“An educated guess, which I confirmed when Prouvaire accidentally let the matter slip,” Courfeyrac said jovially. He turned at the sound of more footsteps. “Good day to you, Bamatabois. What has gotten you winded?” he greeted a harried-looking attorney standing in the doorway. 

“It’s not you, it’s him,” Jerome Bamatabois said, pointing to Enjolras. “It’s been a while since we’ve met, my friend.”

“Yes, the last time was before I went overseas,” Enjolras said by way of greeting as he nodded to this colleague, who always seemed out of breath and belligerent. Of his contemporaries in the first set of representatives elected several years ago after the revolution, Bamatabois was one of those who still worked closely within the legislature as a convenor of committees. “How can I be of assistance?”

“With this,” Bamatabois said, bringing out an envelope. “It is from the commission on foreign affairs.”

“Isn’t that redundant since we have our diplomatic corps and its Home Office here in Paris?” Courfeyrac chortled.

“The commission was made because of the current…mess in the Home Office, like the D’Aramitz trial. The verdict is to be handed today I hear?” Bamatabois said as he handed the envelope to Enjolras. “This is a project that requires your experience, a primer on French policy with handling law and dealings among allies, neutral neighbors, and even less friendly states short of a declaration of war.”

Enjolras’ eyebrows shot up as he broke the seal on the envelope, only to find that he had in his hand a formal request for authorship. “Shouldn’t this be given to a seasoned diplomat?”

“You mean those same ones being investigated in our Home Office or recalled from our consulates?” Bamatabois scoffed. “We need someone who understands the sensitivity of dealing with the little vagaries of each state, particularly when there are questions of autonomy and unification. The delicate situation with the different states of the Italian peninsula is a good example of this, as well as the preservation of our ties with Spain despite its regional peculiarities.”

“I would not call either of those particularly successful. Furthermore, those are matters that will need constant tending to over the years considering upheavals in those states.”

“This is why we need that primer, and for you to write it. You won’t be working alone; Feuilly and some of the other diplomats will help, but we do need the legal and constitutional view.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he read through the letter and the terms of reference outlined therein. “This primer is meant to be finished by the end of the year?”

“Ideally. With all revisions in. Understandably it might take longer especially if you have to handle another high-profile case,” Bamatabois said. “But I think the compensation therein might more than make up for the lack of time in the courtroom or with clients.”

Courfeyrac bit the inside of his cheek as he glanced at his own son. “Practicality speaks. I should know.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras said, remembering now the various occasions when Courfeyrac had taken additional cases just to have a little extra for Armand’s needs. ‘ _And now I have six,’_ he told himself as he glanced down at the letter again.

Bamatabois tapped his feet. “Will you at least consider it?”

“I would like to meet with the commission to discuss the specifics such as the scope of this primer. It would be cumbersome to cover every possible scenario of laws between nations; treaties alone deserve a whole treatise,” Enjolras said at length.

“That will definitely be arranged,” Bamatabois said, sounding more relieved. “Name the day, and I shall set it up.”

“Tomorrow would be ideal,” Enjolras replied, now folding up the letter. He heard now more running footsteps but this time from downstairs, alongside shouts for a doctor. ‘ _Another trial gone wrong,’_ he realized even as he left his office and hurried downstairs. He was greeted by the sight of a huddle of people at the door of the Palais de Justice’s largest courtroom. “What has happened?” he asked a clerk standing there.

“The defendant has been taken with indigestion,” the clerk said. “It should be a passing thing, I hear?”

‘ _The defendant, meaning Citizen D’Aramitz?’_ Enjolras wondered as he looked over the crowd, only to see the accused diplomat doubled over wretchedly in a valiant attempt not to be sick. “Is a physician on the way?” he asked.

“We’ve already sent for one at the Hotel Dieu,” another clerk answered over the hubbub of attorneys shouting at each other and the judge, now with his robes askew, vainly yelling for order from the courtroom door. “He got sick as soon as the verdict was read out. Guilty of high treason, and a convict for life.”

‘ _It would not be the first time anyone has reacted so violently to a sentence,’_ Enjolras thought, stepping aside to let a medic pass through. All the same it appeared to him that it would be easier to simply take D’Aramitz to the hospital instead of tending to him in the infirmary of La Force, where he would be held before being taken to another penitentiary. ‘ _That is unless he turns state witness, and then he will be billeted at the Conciergerie,’_ he noted, remembering how his own father-in-law did the same thing just two years ago.

As he turned to leave this scene he saw Bamatabois, Courfeyrac, and Armand also hurrying up to him. “The sentence was just handed at the D’Aramitz trial,” he told them grimly.

Courfeyrac breathed a sigh of relief as he held Armand’s arm closer to his side. “At least that is concluded then.”

Enjolras shook his head. “He was a single agent in the pay of a powerful state. There are certainly more where he came from, both within and without the embassies.”

“Which is why we need that primer, to help our consulates and embassies regulate themselves,” Bamatabois insisted. “Espionage is also a matter of legal as well as diplomatic policy. Legally it is treason or unwanted interference, but is not every diplomat in a foreign land also a sort of spy for the country he represents?”

“Not if it encompasses solely the gathering of information for the purpose of properly conducting diplomatic relations, then that might be so,” Enjolras said. “It is definitely espionage if it includes acquiring secrets and aiming to undermine another power.”

“Another thing to define in the primer then,” Bamatabois remarked.

Courfeyrac cleared his throat. “You both can save that tomorrow; today has had troubles enough. What do you say to purging them all at the Café du Foy? I am to meet the Pontmercys and some friends of theirs over there in a while.”

The mention of this famed establishment put a light into Bamatabois’ eye. “I could use their coffee. A visit there is long overdue.”

‘ _I am at liberty after all for the rest of the day,’_ Enjolras thought even as he nodded. “I will simply bring my effects from upstairs; give me a few minutes,” he said, clasping Courfeyrac’s arm before heading back to his office. He quickly put papers back into the desk drawers and returned folios to the shelves, and then put his writing implements and other belongings into a satchel. Just as he shouldered the bag, he saw a figure apparently waiting at the door. “Can I help you, Citizen?” he asked cordially.

“My good Citizen Enjolras, this humble man would like to ask for your assistance on a serious matter,” the newcomer, an elderly gentleman dressed in black, said in nasal tones as he made a sweeping bow. “I have fallen on hard times, a man at my age, and I require succor from just and kind benefactors such as yourself.”

“You have other opportunities to better your lot, Citizen Thenardier,” Enjolras greeted, looking him over from head to toe. Even if the nasal tones and sable clothing were admittedly a good disguise, the diction was enough to give away the older man’s identity. “State your business.”

“At least one of my sons-in-law is truly intelligent,” Thenardier said, straightening up and removing a pair of quills once again from his nose. “I am here because I cannot appeal to my daughter to do the right thing for her dear Papa. Perhaps you can prevail over your wife and have me stay with your family.”

“Eponine has made her stance clear. I am in accord with her on this,” Enjolras said firmly.

“You are the man of the house! Isn’t your word law?”

“Matrimony is not synonymous to tyranny.”

“You Republicans!” Thenardier cried. “Surely to have me at your home is not such a big drain on your finances! You are a rich man, are you not? You come from one of the wealthiest families of Aix, so I hear!”

“That wealth belongs to _my_ _parents,”_ Enjolras answered sternly. “Here in Paris, we live within our means.”

“As a son, you can ask them to---”

“No.”

The former innkeeper looked at him with disgust. “What! You then are a poor man? I should have known that you, a milksop from the Midi, would be unable to provide for my grandchildren!”

Enjolras seized Thenardier by the back of his collar, lifting the older man a good inch off the floor as he dragged him out of the office in full view of the crowd now gathered there. “You’ve said enough, Citizen. Good day to you,” Enjolras said coldly to his unwanted guest, setting him down on his feet before locking the office door and then walking down the stairs to meet his friends.


	7. The Makings of a Gentleman's Son

‘ _If I hadn’t gotten the children to stay the day at Azelma’s, I would definitely run straight back home now instead of going for coffee at the Café du Foy,’_ Eponine thought as she peered out the window of the Pontmercys’ carriage as it approached the famed promenades of the Palais Royal. Even though in the past she had no problem with leaving her younger brothers in charge of her own offspring for the day, Thenardier’s release from prison now prompted her to take more precautions than usual. ‘ _All I need is a way that he will not bother us again,’_ she mused as she fidgeted with the edge of one of her gloves.

Next to her, Cosette sighed sympathetically. “It will all come right, I am sure of it. We’ll find a way to keep your family safe from your father,” she said reassuringly as she clasped Eponine’s arm.

“Is it sinful to wish for him to commit some horrible offense that will get him locked up again?” Eponine asked.

“You mean recidivism? A repeat offense or a habit of committing other crimes, even pettier ones, would lessen or even outright eliminate his chances of availing of the good conduct clemency once more,” Marius pointed out as the carriage came to a stop. “If he knows what is good for him, he will simply retire to a quiet existence, outside of the eyes of the law.”

“That’s the problem, he’s never been content with living quietly. I s’pose that is where I get it from,” Eponine retorted as she walked with her friends through the most sunlit promenade. By this time many workplaces had let out for the day, and thus the gardens were crowded with workingmen and workingwomen, as well as a number of high society figures taking in the air. A few street musicians were already setting up their instruments in the middle of the largest courtyard, while hawkers went from one café door to another in hopes of enticing patrons with baked goods, sparkling trinkets and other odd wares. ‘ _This makes Paris what it is, be it in a place as grand as here or as rundown as the Austerlitz,’_ she thought.

In the middle of their walk, Marius suddenly paused. “Eponine, isn’t that your brother Neville I see there?” he asked, looking towards the doorway of the Café du Foy.

“How can that be?” Eponine asked, craning her neck to get a better look. She blinked in an effort to make sure that her eyes weren’t deceiving her, but the sight of Neville in his best suit was unmistakable. She quickly walked ahead of Marius and Cosette, reaching Neville just as the boy turned to look at her. “What brings you here today?”

Neville blushed for a fleeting second, but he still looked her in the eye. “I’m meeting a friend. Don’t worry, Jacques and the little ones are still at Azelma’s.”

“I know, but you are in your best suit,” Eponine pointed out. She chuckled and shook her head as her brother looked down. “Who is she?”

Neville brought a folded note out of his coat pocket. “Her name is Ariadne Wright. I met her during one of the lectures that I was helping with in London. She likes those lectures, so we had some more talks and she said I could write to her. Then suddenly she sent me this note today—not in person, but by a messenger, just to tell me that she is here in Paris with her mother.”

“And you’re meeting her here in a café?” Eponine asked.

“I can’t call on her, not with her mother there,” Neville said, now sounding abashed. “It’s a public place, and now that you’re here with the Pontmercys, it’s not improper at all!”

“I s’pose you could say that,” Eponine said with a shrug, even as she now spotted Enjolras walking up with Bamatabois and the two Courfeyracs in tow. “All of you too?” she called to them, bending only to scoop up Armand, who was running up to hug her by way of greeting.

“Yes, as I have an assignation with them,” Courfeyrac replied, nodding to the Pontmercys. “And some news. I’ll leave you to it,” he added, looking to Enjolras.

‘ _Something terrible,’_ Eponine realized as she let go of Armand to let him also greet the Pontmercys in turn. She waited for the rest of their friends to enter the Café du Foy, leaving only her husband and her brother with her, before she spoke again. “What is it, Antoine?” she asked Enjolras.

“A certain innkeeper dropped by the Palais de Justice,” Enjolras replied tersely. His eyes were dark with concern as he looked at Eponine. “It would appear you’ve met him today as well.”

“He followed me in the Marais,” Eponine confessed. She clasped Enjolras’ hand, seeing him set his jaw at this bit of information. “That’s why I hid first with the Pontmercys and went with them here, just to throw off the scent so to speak.”

“That is good. Were you able to see if he followed you three here?”

“I never knew him to be able to outrun a carriage; he used to rely on Azelma for that.”

Neville cleared his throat before looking at them with a contemplative expression. “You know that he’s going to come to see me and Jacques next. Maybe not now, but as soon as we are old enough to count for something, which will be in a few years,” he said.

Eponine paused, suddenly noticing her brother seemed more nervous than he was just minutes earlier when telling her about his newfound romantic pursuit. “We will _not_ allow him near you and Jacques. I promise that.”

“I know, but what’s stopping him from meeting me at the university or someplace?” Neville asked. He wiped his hands on his coat before looking worriedly at his sister. “When you got married, you simply agreed to be my guardian and Neville’s, is that correct?”

“Yes. I know, Jacques was referring to me as his mother, but you know that would have been impossible since we were so young then,” Eponine said.

“Yes, but he isn’t,” Neville pointed out, now looking at Enjolras. “You’re old enough to be my father and Jacques’ father.”

“By only nineteen years in your case,” Enjolras deadpanned. “You are aware that since I am married to your sister, that has made me your _de facto_ guardian even if not actually stated in a legal document or contract.”

“A guardian is not the same as a father, not by the law at least. That’s what I figured out through looking through your books earlier today,” Neville said. He stood up straight and smiled. “If Jacques and I were your sons on paper, that wouldn’t make us Thenardiers anymore, and the old man cannot chisel out anything from either of us!”

‘ _If I didn’t know that he wanted to be a scientist, I would suggest he go into law instead,’_ Eponine thought bemusedly. She nudged Enjolras, who was now regarding them ruefully. “Is he correct about that?”

“That he is. Under the more recent laws, an adoption at least by _me_ would be possible,” Enjolras answered, touching her hand briefly. He looked at Neville more seriously. “You understand though what you are asking? What does Jacques think?”

“He was calling you ‘father’ long before I was, and he agrees too; you can ask me later,” Neville pointed out. “The truth is that I never felt like an actual Thenardier; I was made a Magnon when I was little, and then I found out I wasn’t. Then before I could get used to being a Thenardier, you and my sister got married, and you’ve treated me and Jacques like we are actually your boys. I know I sign myself as ‘Neville Thenardier’ on paper, but it’s really all the same whenever people call me ‘Neville Enjolras’ by mistake.”

‘ _How does being a Thenardier feel like anyhow?’_ Eponine wondered, even as all her father’s bizarre sobriquets and aliases came to mind. “You know we’ll have to file for your name to be changed at the university, once all the proper papers are signed,” she said at length.

“I know, but I don’t think it’s so difficult. The registrar asked why my last name was ‘Thenardier’ and not ‘Enjolras,’” Neville replied.

“We should discuss this further, inside,” Enjolras said, gesturing to the café. “I never thought we’d have to make this matter official,” he added more confidentially to Eponine as they entered the establishment.

“We should have probably gotten it done with earlier, don’t you think? It’s just as well that we have friends here who can help us out,” Eponine said, gesturing to where Courfeyrac, Marius and Cosette were in a discussion with some acquaintances at a table. Nearby, Bamatabois was trying to amuse Armand with a story, but with little success if the boy’s expression of ennui was any indicator. ‘ _It will be like a discussion we had some nine years ago,’_ she realized as she, Enjolras and Neville found some seats near their friends’ table and ordered some pastries and tea.

After a while Cosette excused herself from her own discussion and went over to their table. “You told him about what happened today?” she asked Eponine.

“Yes, and we’ll do something about that. But could you pull either your husband or Courfeyrac here with us too?” Eponine asked her friend with a smile. “Neville has an idea here that is legal, and we need another lawyer who isn’t in the family.”

Cosette’s eyes widened. “What sort of idea?”

“The same idea that gave both of us a father named Jean Valjean,” Eponine quipped. She nodded as she saw Cosette’s eyes widen further but this time with understanding. “Please?”

Cosette quickly waved Marius over and managed to keep a straight face when the latter almost knocked over a stool on the way there. “My love, do you remember exactly what my father and your grandfather did with that _acte de notoriete_ for me before we got married?” she asked him in a whisper as he took a seat next to hers.

Marius looked at her perplexedly, then at Enjolras and Eponine. “It made him your guardian or father officially, with my grandfather as a supervising guardian. If I am correct a similar thing was made up before you two were married too,” he said, indicating their friends.

“Because my father wouldn’t be at the wedding, I had you make an _acte de notoriete_ attesting that even if I was emancipated and doing everything on my own, Cosette’s father was now my guardian too, just so he could give me away and I could get married properly,” Eponine said. “That’s how it went?”

“Yes. And Courfeyrac made another one, for your sister---” Marius trailed off before looking to his colleague, who was now listening with interest even as he walked over. “Would you remember what it was?”

Courfeyrac gestured to Enjolras. “It made you Azelma’s guardian. That was why you gave her away at her wedding to Prouvaire.”

“That is how it went,” Enjolras said. “A different set of documents would be required for an adoption however.”

“Who are you adopting…” Marius began once more before meeting Neville’s wide grin. The younger attorney’s jaw dropped before he looked at his friend once more. “Enjolras, this is well-intentioned, but isn’t this undoing what you attested years ago that you never had children before you got married?”

“I would not need to perjure myself, if it can be attested that Neville and Jacques were orphaned, abandoned, or otherwise not in the care of any blood family before they came under Eponine’s guardianship before being adopted,” Enjolras explained.

“A natural progression, so to speak,” Courfeyrac concurred with a smile. “If you ask me, this was too long in coming.”

Bamatabois raised his hand. “I hate to eavesdrop or be the dissenting voice, Enjolras, but have you considered what this would do to your estate? You have three children already to leave it to, and this adoption will result in reduced portions all around,” he said.

Eponine sighed deeply. “Four. It’s now four. But what difference would six children instead of four make?”

“If it was a matter of dividing actual parcels of land or shares in a business, that question would be material. It will not be in our case,” Enjolras said, putting his hands on the table.

“Your family’s lands in Aix?” Bamatabois asked.

“My parents and I have agreed that when the time comes, the majority of those lands will be divided among the farmers and workers who already do much more to it on a daily basis. They have worked it for years, and have as much right to it as we do. What remains of the estate such as the house will also be sold, and the proceeds will be divided among my heirs---which henceforth shall include Neville and Jacques. I need to confirm the exact figures, but I believe that each portion would still be substantial for any of the children to set up a good annuity or even start a new venture. The only question left would be our home here in Paris, but I trust that the six of them will be able to settle that between themselves amicably.”

 _‘For the simple fact we did not raise them to be avaricious,’_ Eponine hoped silently. “Of course this does not mean you get to call me ‘Maman’ in public,” she said to her brother.

“I already call you that at home---” Neville joked even as he suddenly got up from his seat. “Excuse me for a moment,” he mumbled before rushing away from the table.

“How now! I’ve only seen that reaction for a fair lady!” Courfeyrac remarked.

“That is because it is the case,” Eponine muttered, looking now to where her brother was greeting a fresh-faced brunette who had just tiptoed into the Café du Foy. Even from afar Eponine could see that this stranger was ill at ease, both from the crowd as well as the heavily beaded scarlet dress that did not hang well off her bony shoulders. ‘ _That dress was not made for a girl of seventeen,’_ she observed silently.

Enjolras glanced at this scene and raised an eyebrow. “Did I miss something?”

“Yes, a trip to England,” Eponine quipped.

“I see,” Enjolras said before sipping his tea. “Do not head over there, whatever you do,” he said to the rest of the group, looking more pointedly at Courfeyrac.

“And ruin that lovely scene?” Courfeyrac said innocently. “Though she is a bit old for him?”

“She looks about his age, but it’s just the dress that makes her seem otherwise,” Cosette chimed in. “No mother would let her girl do that.”

At that precise moment a screech came from the doorway of the Café du Foy. “Ariadne Wright! How dare you show up here without me?” a woman yelled in English. Her buxom frame was accentuated by her tight-fitting gown of yellow-green silk, and her wavy dark hair was pulled up into a knot at the back of her head. “And here in the Café du Foy, nonetheless!”

The girl who Neville had been talking to suddenly reddened at the sight of this older woman. “Mama, I thought you’d be at the seamstresses---”

“If you were going to such a popular place, you should have brought me so I could have met some gentlemen too!” The matron’s brown eyes narrowed at Neville as she shook a handkerchief in front of his face. “And you! I will not have a penniless artist’s assistant seducing my girl! Shoo!”

Eponine immediately pushed her chair back and walked over. “Excuse me Madame, what seems to be the problem?” she asked in English.

“This ne’er do well boy here is ruining my daughter’s chances. We’re here to meet fine folk, not this sort,” the Englishwoman said imperiously, turning up her nose at Neville, who was looking as if he wanted to sink into the floor.

“Mama, please,” the girl named Ariadne pleaded, now thoroughly red in the face. “His name is Neville. He’s not an artist, he’s a student studying under a very important professor who was just in London a few months ago.”

“A student?” the matron sneered. “What good will that do? Maybe you can explain to this boy here that we are here to meet actual gentlemen,” she told Eponine.

“He is the son of a gentleman,” Eponine said, drawing herself up to her full height. “And this is why _he_ is here with a chaperone, meaning me. May I know your name, Madame?”

The Englishwoman pursed her lips in what would have been an imperious expression if not for the reddish tint that had gotten smeared on her teeth. “Dolores Wright. And who is this boy’s father, might I ask?”

“I am,” Enjolras answered, now walking up to them quickly. “Is there anything that my wife and I can clear up for you, Citizenness?” he asked more slowly in English, fixing the errant Englishwoman with a glare.

Dolores Wright paled for a moment before turning even redder than her daughter had been earlier. “I was only mistaken, good Sir,” she said with a nervous laugh. “That’s the trouble with how young people dress these days; you don’t know if they are actually somebody or someone pretending to be so-and-so.”

“Mama, please!” Ariadne hissed. “Sir, Madame, I am very sorry for the disturbance, but I think we will be on our way,” she said to Enjolras and Eponine.

“Miss Ariadne Wright, isn’t it? _You_ don’t need to apologize,” Eponine reassured the discomfited girl. She smiled when Ariadne looked at her more easily. “And I don’t think we’ve properly introduced ourselves.”

“You can call me Citizen Enjolras, or whatever it translates to in English,” Enjolras said, nodding to Ariadne and Dolores. “And this is my wife Eponine,” he added, discreetly touching Eponine’s hand.

“I am Dolores Wright, though just Dolores will do,” the English matron gushed, grabbing his hand to shake it effusively for a moment before dropping into a clumsy curtsy. “And this is my lovely daughter Ariadne,” she added, pulling the girl forward.

‘ _How can she still breathe with being laced in so tightly?’_ Eponine wondered even as she shook Dolores’ hand, then Ariadne’s. “What brings you here to Paris? Neville said that he met your daughter in London,” she asked.

“Oh some trifling matters,” Dolores said flippantly. She looked towards the rear of the café, where Cosette, Marius, Courfeyrac, Armand, and Bamatabois were surreptitiously watching them. “Did we keep you from your friends? I am _so_ sorry.”

“Not at all,” Eponine said, exchanging a knowing glance with her husband. ‘ _Maybe having a proper seat will give Neville and Ariadne some chance to talk,’_ she thought, seeing how Neville had lost no time in taking the girl’s arm as they walked back to the tables.

Cosette immediately stood up, prompting the rest of the company to do so. “Welcome to Paris, ladies. I am the Baronness Pontmercy, and this is my husband the Baron Marius Pontmercy,” she said graciously in English.

Ariadne hesitated on seeing Cosette. “Do I curtsy on greeting you, Madame Baronness?”

“No, not anymore. A simple handshake will do, or a kiss on the cheek when we are friends,” Cosette replied amiably, offering her hand and discreetly indicating that Marius should do so as well.

Dolores’ eyes widened with surprise as she looked at the dignified pair before her. “Well I knew this was a fine place, but to meet an actual Baron and a Baronness! The name is Dolores Wright, and my dear girl is Ariadne.” Her face was aglow as she shook Cosette’s hand, and then Marius’. “Where from France are you from?”

“From Paris,” Marius replied disaffectedly in English. “We can speak freely, Mrs. Wright and Miss Wright. Is there a Mister Wright accompanying you?”

Ariadne shook her head. “We do not have any other family, Sir.”

‘ _There is a story there,’_ Eponine realized even as she watched Cosette now begin to converse with Dolores, while Enjolras had pulled Neville aside perhaps to question him about what had transpired in England. Eponine nodded to Ariadne, who was now looking at her own gloved hands. “I’d also like you to meet more of our friends, almost family at this point,” she said to the girl. “Gentlemen, meet Miss Ariadne Wright. Miss Wright, meet Citizen Jerome Bamatabois, and the Citizens Courfeyrac,” she added, looking to the rest of the group.

Armand, who had been occupied with a piece of cake, now looked curiously at Ariadne. “Do you speak French?” he asked, wiping his mouth.

“Not very much,” Ariadne said. “You look like a very smart little boy.”

“That he is,” Courfeyrac chimed in more gallantly. “Welcome to Paris, Miss Wright,” he said to the girl, just managing to make his English intelligible as he shook her hand.

“Are you not going to tell them that Courfeyrac is actually _de_ Courfeyrac?” Bamatabois asked Eponine discreetly.

“Oh stop it, you know he doesn’t like that!” Eponine hissed even as she watched Cosette now introducing Dolores to Courfeyrac and Armand. ‘ _That’s always thrown people off, even after all these years,’_ she reflected.

In the meantime, Dolores was all smiles as Courfeyrac courteously shook her hand. “Is that your son there?” she asked, looking to where Armand was now telling Ariadne a story.

“Yes. Armand is nine years old. Your Ariadne is how old?” Courfeyrac asked politely.

“Seventeen.” Dolores glanced down for a moment. “And where is Mrs. Courfeyrac?” she asked with a smile.

Courfeyrac laughed. “If you mean my mother, she is in Gascony.”

“Gascony? Is that very far from here?” Dolores said, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind one of her ears.

It was all that Eponine could do to keep a straight face on overhearing this exchange. ‘ _It might be time to ask Claudine and Combeferre what else happened while we were in England,’_ she decided as she picked up a piece of pastry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I messed with the Code Napoleon on this one.


	8. An Uninvited Guest

Over the next week, Enjolras busied himself with two matters: formalizing his adoption of Neville and Jacques, and then recruiting a team to help with writing the primer. ‘ _Even with this expertise it will be the work of several months,’_ he thought on the afternoon of August 15 as he surveyed the group assembled in his office at the Palais de Justice. Apart from longtime colleagues such as Feuilly, the team also included more recent acquaintances such as the attaches LeClerc and Lamarre, who he had worked with during the debacle in the Italian peninsula just weeks ago. “Good morning gentlemen. I am sure that all of you have been appraised about the scope of this undertaking,” he greeted them. “This manuscript will not only be a guide to the future undertakings of our diplomatic corps, but will also help safeguard and even promote the principles of liberty, equality and fraternity through France’s relations with other states.”

“Other states meaning just those in Europe, or the world as a whole?” LeClerc asked drowsily, still nursing a cup of coffee in one hand. “The latter sounds impossible to capture in a single volume alone.”

“This covers all states that France presently has either diplomatic or trade relations with,” Enjolras answered, bringing out a sheet of paper to make a list. “This primer would deal mainly with general principles of engaging with neighbors and allies; you are right that it would be impossible to detail the peculiarities of working with each and every state. What is important is to properly clarify the following: treaties, delineation of borders, the conduct of equitable trade, the recognition of emerging states or changes in government, the immunity of diplomats and transnational organizations such as the Catholic Church, the handling of extraditions and deportations, and France’s participation in accords and bodies such as the Vienna System.”

Feuilly frowned at the last point as he pulled his wiry hair out of his face. “You mean France’s participation in a system that institutionalized tyranny and annexations.”

“Hence the current reconsiderations and rapprochements of the past few months. Part of what should be clear is what kind of accords and transnational agreements do not violate either our Constitution’s principles or the spirit of conviviality and collegiality among states,” Enjolras said, nodding to his friend. “Since each of us here has specific areas of interest or expertise, it would be expeditious to divide this volume among us, with two or three minds aligning to cover each topic. I will reserve for myself, with the help of Citizen Lamarre, the penal question of deportation and extradition. I will also undertake the final editing for the collated manuscript.”

Another diplomat cleared his throat. “Would it not be better for all of us to come to a consensus on each chapter, and then write it?”

“If we had a _year_ to do it, then yes,” Lamarre pointed out. “Since we only have till the end of the year, we must write from expertise and then reconcile discrepancies after.”

Feuilly nodded slowly. “Well then give me the chapter on the Vienna System.”

“I’ll write on diplomatic immunity,” LeClerc volunteered. “With a friend of course.”

Enjolras quickly noted these down, as well as the rest of the topics that the rest of the team volunteered for. Within half an hour, each man had his assignment in hand and had left to begin initial research or see to other appointments. Only Feuilly remained, looking pensively out the window. Enjolras watched his friend for a moment before clearing his throat. “I see you are weighed by Polish matters,” he remarked.

“Which was why I want to write about that system Metternich imposed,” Feuilly said tersely. “This is an opportunity for liberation, Enjolras. If that trip of yours could set Italy in motion, what more could this primer do for Poland or other states facing oppression from Austria, Prussia, and even Russia?”

“You mean to provide a template for them to stand on equal footing with the other states of Europe or even all the world,” Enjolras said. Even now he could envision a whole new gathering of representatives and leaders from all over the continent, but now without any talk of carving up territories like spoils of war. ‘ _Indeed this century could be happy,’_ he told himself.

Feuilly smiled at these words. “Someday we will all be children of the world, not merely of one country. You remember what you said at the Rue de Chanvrerie, ten years ago? It is beginning to happen. People only need to believe more in it.”

“The spark will burst into flame when its time comes,” Enjolras said even as he heard now hurried footsteps leading to the office. He raised an eyebrow on seeing Bahorel suddenly appear, looking rather puzzled. “What is the matter?”

“This bit of news: Citizen D’Aramitz just died,” the burly detective announced, throwing down his greatcoat. “Just this hour, in the La Force infirmary.”

Enjolras shook his head and swore under his breath. “What of?”

“Liver trouble. It was rather sudden,” Bahorel replied tersely. “That is what turns people yellow, am I correct?”

“Take that up with Combeferre or Joly,” Enjolras suggested. He gritted his teeth as he mulled over the last time he saw the diplomat D’Aramitz just about a week ago. ‘ _Was the indigestion the beginning of it, or a sign of some longstanding illness taking a turn for the worse?’_ he wondered.

“The prison doctor is likely to rule it as natural causes,” Bahorel said with a frown. “This would put into question again the conditions he was being held in, as preparation for his being transferred to the southern penitentiary.”

“It’s probably just as well that this did not happen while he was in transit,” Feuilly pointed out. “At the very least he got medical attention.”

‘ _A small mercy,’_ Enjolras thought. “Will an investigation be launched?”

“I am pushing for it.”

“Do let us know what the findings are,” Feuilly said, now shaking his head. “It is a shame, as he would have made an excellent informant.”

‘ _Unless it was deemed that his usefulness was outlived,’_ Enjolras thought as he began to put away some papers. “It’s Laure’s birthday today. We are having a celebration at home,” he explained.

“You have more than that to celebrate today,” Bahorel said with a wide grin. “Prouvaire’s latest play is one; I heard of particular praises for Azelma’s stage design there. And what of the boys’ adoption?”

“It pushed through; the signed and finalized paperwork was filed this morning, making the arrangement effective as of noon,” Enjolras said. “I would not be surprised of Gavroche has something to celebrate?”

“He is not through yet with his cases, but your festivities tonight may provide him some much-needed room for a breakthrough.” Bahorel quipped. “And I for my part will take my four boys up to row once we get a chance to, for health’s sake. How about your own, Feuilly?”

“Leonor is intent on getting our Sophie to be more bookish, that is to read less of fairy tales and more of the news,” Feuilly said ruefully. “But she seems to have that artist’s eye, and I hope to find a mentor to encourage that.”

“Hopefully one will present himself or herself soon,” Enjolras said as he locked the last of the desk drawers and placed some more folios in his satchel. After taking leave of his friends, he headed to a bookshop in the Place Saint-Andre, where he had placed a request for a particular volume some days ago. ‘ _At the rate Laure is going, it will not be long till she starts wondering about Rousseau,’_ he noted bemusedly as he picked up the carefully wrapped book of historical tales that was to be a gift for his only daughter.

As he walked down a side street that served as a shorter path between the Place Saint-Andre and the Marche Saint-Germain, he heard from an alley up ahead the raised voices and shouts that could only come from an impending scuffle of schoolboys. ‘ _And the hangers-on will just encourage this,’_ he thought with disgust as he quickened his pace only a moment before a scream came from this scene. He sprinted over in time to see a large boy knock Neville to the ground while two other youngsters nearby were holding back Ariadne Wright from getting to this scene. Several other boys stood nearby jeering and throwing insults. Enjolras lost no time in pulling the two combatants apart. “What is the meaning of this?”

Immediately the two boys who had been holding back Ariadne, as well as most of the other youths who had been egging them on, paled and fled up the alley, leaving only three who were too afraid to scamper off. Enjolras let go of the youngster he had in hand even as he saw Ariadne help Neville to his feet; the dark-haired boy had the beginnings of a black eye and had also sustained a bloody nose. Ariadne seemed unscathed but her dress of bright pink satin was rumpled as if she’d also been in the scuffle early on. Enjolras crossed his arms as he glared at the youngsters. “Explain.”

“It was only a misunderstanding, Citizen,” the largest boy said stiffly, dabbing at his now split lip. “Only a disagreement about the girl.”

“Is it now?” Enjolras asked sternly. He gritted his teeth on seeing how Neville shot a venomous look at the other boys while Ariadne looked down shakily. “This behavior is unbecoming and discourteous, especially for young gentlemen. Go home, all of you.”

One of the other boys sneered at Neville. “Next time you won’t be so lucky. You and that frigid English bitch!”

Enjolras swiftly grabbed Neville’s shoulder before the latter could launch himself at the now retreating group. “I expected better from you,” he said reprovingly.

“I would have had him if I had both feet!” Nevile protested, glancing down at his wooden foot. “And you didn’t hear what they said about Ariadne---I mean Citizenness Wright!”

Enjolras glanced at the girl, who was clearly on the verge of tears. “Does your mother know you’re here?” he asked.

Ariadne shook her head miserably. “Sir, we were out for a walk, then his friends said hello when he introduced me and said we’d met in England---” she stammered in English before pausing in an attempt to regain her composure. “They said some horrible-sounding things and that big boy knocked Neville down!”

“I threw the first punch though,” Neville admitted. He swallowed hard before speaking again. “I told them that I was a gentleman to Citizenness Wright in England and then here.”

“Then?”

“The boys said it would be ‘easy if I fucked her here in Paris, because the police would never understand what she is saying.’”

These words had Enjolras clenching his fist, more so when he saw some of the miscreants daring to peek at the end of the alley. “Let’s get you both indoors. Home is not far away.”

“Even me, Sir?” Ariadne asked worriedly.

“You as well,” Enjolras said, glancing down the alley once more to make sure that none of the youngsters’ assailants would dare to follow. ‘ _It would be best to find someone to escort her back to her lodgings later,’_ he decided. The thought of possibly encountering Dolores Wright again was enough to make his skin crawl but he willed himself to banish this scenario from this mind as he walked the pair to the Rue Guisarde.

Upon arriving at 9 Rue Guisarde, he caught sight of Laure, Julien, Etienne, and Jacques all seated up in the crook of the large acacia tree in the front yard. “What are all of you doing there?” Enjolras asked by way of greeting.

Laure put a finger to her mouth. “Shhhh, Papa! We’re going to lose the game!”

“Ponine is asking them to be quiet for a little while; last person to hold out gets the remaining candied citron in the kitchen,” Jacques explained. He cocked his head at Neville. “What’s with your mug and the lady?”

Neville colored deeply, bringing a hand to the rapidly forming bruise around his eye. “That’s none of your business.”

Enjolras gave the two older boys warning looks before helping the three smaller children down from the tree, beginning with the youngest. “You four can play the game inside,” he said after he’d set Laure on her feet.

Julien picked a leaf out of his hair. “Does Neville get to play the game, Papa?”

“If he wants to.” Enjolras made a show of bringing out his watch from his fob. “It is almost five-thirty. We will start in---”

“No!” Etienne insisted, stamping his foot as he glared up defiantly at Enjolras. “Don’t want!”

“Then no candy for Tienne!” Laure said in a singsong voice.

Enjolras sighed deeply as he walked ahead to open the door and let the children back into the house. After showing Neville and Ariadne in the sitting room and convincing the younger four to stay in the study where they could be better diverted with books and other sundry, he took off his coat so that he was in his shirtsleeves, and then made his way to the kitchen where he could hear Eponine singing off-key. “Eponine, I’ve had to modify your diversion,” he said by way of greeting.

Eponine cursed as she nearly dropped a knife onto the mushrooms she’d been chopping. “Antoine! How long have you been standing there?” she asked, looking over her shoulder. Her hair was tied back rather messily with a green ribbon, and she wore an apron over one of her ink-stained work dresses.

“Briefly,” Enjolras deadpanned. “Is there anything you need?”

“I just sent Gavroche to the market to get some bread and cheese after he dropped off the truffles and quails here,” Eponine said breathlessly, pointing to some plucked and singed small poultry in a tray as well as some thinly sliced truffles on a plate. “He just came from the station house, and he told me that Citizen D’Aramitz was dead?”

“Just this morning. Bahorel is ordering an investigation,” Enjolras said.

“An autopsy?”

“Perhaps. That could only be one among many avenues of investigation.”

Eponine shuddered before glancing to the kitchen doorway momentarily. “Now how did you get the children quiet? I’ve been trying to do that all day, but I cannot even get five minutes of cutting up anything before someone yells ‘Maman!’ or runs in here to tug on my skirt!”

Enjolras cringed at this mental image before dropping a discreet kiss on the top of her head. “It would certainly please you to know that I reset their game to five-thirty.”

“Thank you. And who is winning?”

“At this point I surmise it is Julien.”

Eponine laughed even as she leaned slightly into him. “You have _no_ idea of the trouble I’ve had all afternoon with them; I s’pose it would have been fine if we’d been able to get back on time from having lunch with the Pontmercys! Then by the time I got them settled for a nap, the builders came to take a look at what we had planned for that new bedroom upstairs.” She paused to wipe her hands on her apron before turning to kiss his neck. “Did you know how long it really takes for builders to survey a space that small?”

“No, but I presume they were able to draw up some plans for it?”

“Yes, but we’re going to have to talk with them next week about the cost before they start knocking down the wall.”

‘ _Hence another reason to take on that primer writing,’_ he told himself. “You should also know that we have another addition to our dinner guests this evening,” he said before Eponine could resume chopping the mushrooms.

Her jaw dropped. “And who did you or anyone invite?”

“I would not consider it an invitation, more of an emergency,” he said, holding up a hand. “Neville and the younger Citizenness Wright had a scrape in the street, with some of Neville’s schoolmates. Under the circumstances it was not safe to have her heading home unaccompanied. They are in the sitting room, while the rest of the children are in the study.”

Eponine swore under her breath before handing the knife to Enjolras. “You finish this. I s’pose we’re going to need to cook more potatoes later, so you should get started on peeling them too. I’ll be back in a little while, I just need to have a word or two with those two,” she muttered.

“What do you mean?”

“Those quails aren’t going to truss themselves!”

‘ _I’ll have to make this up to her later,’_ Enjolras decided, watching her leave before he continued chopping the mushrooms. After setting these aside, he went to the large basket in the kitchen where they kept a good supply of potatoes for various dishes. He picked out some of the rounder potatoes, already guessing what dish Eponine had in mind. Just as he had finished peeling one potato, he heard Eponine stalking back into the kitchen. “That was brief,” he remarked.

“It didn’t take much explaining or telling. You could see it in that poor girl’s face” Eponine fumed as she began rummaging among some pots and pans. She quickly brought out a large earthenware dish, ran a little water over it to get rid of some dust, and then began to fill it up with the chopped mushrooms and truffles. “The nerve of them to treat a girl like that!”

Enjolras shook his head as he recalled what had transpired in the alley. “Neville of course was quick to defend her honor, and I presume even her life as well.”

“He’s a good boy; you definitely made sure of it,” Eponine said, tossing in some chopped garlic into the dish before pouring in some broth that had been sitting to the side in a small pot, as well as some wine. She then got some string and began trussing up the quails. “I am almost certain as to what the older Citizenness Wright was back in London. I had dresses like that once, on some days out in the streets before we met.”

“Perhaps, but do you know what brings them to Paris?”

“My guess is debtor’s prison, or escaping it, rather. That’s one of the usual reasons people flee here to the Continent with hardly a few days’ notice”

“It is just as well that evading debt is not an extraditable offense,” he said as he tossed aside a long potato peel. “Does Neville know of this?” he asked at length.

“It’s not my business to ask, I s’pose. Not yet,” Eponine pointed out, knotting and tying off an end of thread. “He probably should ask one of these days though, especially if he does mean to someday actually marry her.”

“He’s only seventeen. This should not be a priority especially while in university.”

“You do remember I was seventeen when we met?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he set aside another peeled potato. “Yes, but I was almost twenty-six, and in line to take the exam for my licentiate in law. That makes a world of difference, more so nowadays than directly after the revolution.”

“It doesn’t have to happen right away; there is some good to a long engagement, and I s’pose Citizenness Wright would want to be of some standing before that actually happens,” Eponine said, trussing up the last of the quails. She bit her lip as she met his eyes. “I hope that when he does choose, that he will be as brave as you.”

Enjolras smiled as he caught Eponine’s left hand, making sure to wrap his fingers around her own twisted ones. He heard her breath catch at this even as a blush spread across her cheeks. ‘ _Even after all these years,’_ he thought as he met her halfway with a kiss. The taste of her was always intoxicating but before either of them could deepen this kiss, he heard a step in the kitchen doorway. “Don’t look now,” he muttered against her lips.

“I’m not looking, but it’s Gavroche there, I am sure,” Eponine said, rolling her eyes.

“You’re lucky it was me who caught you and not the _momes,”_ Gavroche greeted, setting down some long loaves of bread as well as two small wheels of Brie. The gamin turned detective jerked his thumb towards the door. “Did that girl out there in the living room have something to do with painting Neville’s face with that bruise?”

“It wasn’t her doing, it was those brutes he called his schoolmates,” Eponine said with a scowl. “You think he will find better company in university, say a friend along the likes of Combeferre?” she asked Enjolras.

“It was during my first year studying law when I met Courfeyrac, Bossuet, Bahorel, and of course Grantaire,” Enjolras pointed out.

“Oh never mind that then.”

Gavroche snorted. “Looks like you are short of hands. Who’s bringing the dessert?”

“Azelma and Jehan said they will bring a cake. I am sure it’s going to be a good one,” Eponine replied, now lining up the trussed quails in the dish with the mushrooms and truffles before setting the entire thing to simmer atop the stove. “I just need to get the soup started. Gavroche, you can deal with the potatoes, while Antoine gets started with the _aioli_ that goes with the soup.”

“Why, I can make _aioli_ just as well, you showed me once!”

“Yes, but I know that Antoine keeps his wrists in practice. You only have your right hand.”

“I will pretend I did not hear that,” Enjolras muttered even as he saw Gavroche redden to the tips of his ears. Even as he combined some crumbled bread with some egg yolks and garlic, he could already hear light footsteps and barely muffled giggles from the general vicinity of the house’s front rooms. ‘ _Any minute now,’_ he thought, sharing a knowing look with Eponine before turning his attention to adding olive oil drop by drop to the mixture he had to stir continually.

“Maman! Papa! Uncle Gavroche! We’ve been _very_ quiet!” Laure said in a stage whisper from the kitchen doorway. “Do we win?”

“Where is Etienne?” Eponine asked, turning to look at where Laure and Julien were hopping about, only to see Jacques saunter up and write on a piece of paper: ‘ _Etienne is sleeping’._ She bit her lip to hold back a chuckle as she looked at Enjolras. “You reset the game. What do you want to do?”

“Split the sweets,” Enjolras replied amid Laure and Julien’s protests. He quickly righted the bottle of olive oil before he could add one drop too many to the _aioli._ “It will be a four-way split since Jacques _and_ Etienne have been quiet as well.”

“Etienne took a nap. That shouldn’t count,” Laure grumbled.

“No one said _how_ you had to be quiet,” Julien retorted, sticking out his tongue.

“That is enough, both of you,” Enjolras said more sternly.

Eponine wiped her hands before crouching to look at the two small children. “Laure, you _have_ to learn to share with your brothers even if it is your birthday. Julien, that is not polite to do to anyone. You’re not a frog catching a fly, aren’t you?”

Laure nodded and sighed as she fussed with the white ribbon holding her hair back. “When do we get dinner?”

“In a little while, and we’ll have it ready faster if you three can set the table,” Eponine said, now straightening up to get the dish of quails off the flame.

Jacques smirked as he pocketed the paper and pencil he had in hand. “We’ll set it for twelve, including Citizenness Wright?”

“Yes. We’ll have to find some way to send her home in a fiacre or with one of us walking after dinner,” Eponine replied, now beginning to put some fish slices, tomatoes, and spices into a pot of water. She waited for the three youngsters to run into the dining room, where the dishes and cutlery were kept, before sighing deeply. “I s’pose we should be thankful for one thing, that the _older_ Citizenness Wright is not present.”

“Perish the thought,” Enjolras muttered, looking to where Gavroche was already beginning to cook some of the potatoes in hot oil. He glanced down and found that the _aioli_ he had been stirring had somehow come together in a smooth and creamy mixture. “Anything more that needs to be done?” he asked.

“What about putting this cake on the table?” Azelma greeted from where she, Jean Prouvaire, and their son Maximillien now stood in the kitchen doorway. All three were dressed well for dinner, while Azelma had in her hands a large box. “And for once you’re early, Gavroche.”

“Only for the food,” Gavroche said, thumbing his nose only a moment before little Maximillien rushed up to him to be carried. “How is the little playwright?”

“Flutist,” Jean Prouvaire said proudly. “He started yesterday.”

Maximillien grinned, showing where he had recently lost a tooth. “It’s funny now but I’ll play nicely later.”

“Most certainly,” Enjolras concurred even as he took the boxed-up dessert to safely set out of reach. ‘ _Probably another Kings of Bordeaux cake,’_ he noted, recognizing the aromas of citrus fruits that he had come to associate with this out of season favorite. In the next room, he saw Jacques helping right some cutlery that Julien and Etienne had put out of order, while Laure chattered with Neville and Ariadne, who were helping her set the plates. “Hands off this, all of you,” he ordered as he set the cake down on the table.

“I’ve never understood why we can’t have sweets before dinner; it’s all the same when digested,” Neville wondered aloud.

Laure and Julien glanced at each other before looking at Enjolras. “Papa, may we _please_ have some?” Julien asked.

“No, you’ll ruin your dinner,” Enjolras said, picking up Etienne before the toddler could swipe a glass off the table. “Do you need me to take charge of him?” he asked Eponine, who was just entering the dining room while untying her apron.

“I’ll bring him with me for a bit; he needs his face washed and I need to look nice,” Eponine replied, deftly taking Etienne. She smiled reassuringly at Ariadne, who was beginning to look wide-eyed at all the chaos. “It’s not like this every day around here, don’t worry. It’s much quieter when everyone’s got classes to be at,” she told the girl before heading upstairs.

‘ _Thankfully school opening will commence in a few weeks,’_ Enjolras thought as he quickly took the opportunity to quickly check on the study and the living room to ensure that the youngsters had not left these places in a state of disorder. Just as he expected, he found books, drawings, and a few toys scattered over and under the seats in the study, and even resting on his desk and Eponine’s translating corner. Just as he had finished straightening up this room, he heard a creaking coming from the general vicinity of the front door as if someone was trying the hinge or the knob from the outside. He reached under his desk for the long _canne_ he kept there for such possible intrusions, and silently made his way to the study door, making ready to strike.

Just as Enjolras stepped out of the study, he saw the front door suddenly swing open. “How now! Are you really going to strike your father-in-law down?” Thenardier exclaimed as he stepped into the house.


	9. A Study in Disrepute

Much to Eponine’s surprise, Etienne readily agreed to have his face washed and to also change into a cleaner set of clothes. “Thank goodness you’re not so stubborn today, _petit_ ,” she whispered as she left him to play on the floor of her room while she freshened up for dinner. ‘ _Then again I cannot expect less from any child of ours,’_ she thought as she looked through the closet for fresh clothing. Her hands ran over some of her older dresses, some of which she had since she was seventeen. ‘ _Maybe if I get some of these reworked, Ariadne can make use of them,’_ she mused silently, thinking back on the young girl’s garish attire.

As she finished donning a green gown, she sighed on feeling a familiar firmness in her stomach, just above her hips. “You’re growing a little fast, aren’t you?” she whispered just before she heard a thump coming from outside. She went to the window, which overlooked the street, but did not see anyone at the gate. ‘ _Which means that someone is in the garden,’_ she realized as she quickly pinned up her hair in a knot. As quietly as she could, she scooped up Etienne on her way out of the bedroom, and swiftly made her way to the stairs.

Just as she was halfway down the stairs she saw the front hall door open to admit Nicolas Thenardier across the threshold, only to be confronted by Enjolras stepping out of the study carrying a _canne_. “Go to your brother and sister, _petite_ ,” Eponine whispered in Etienne’s ear as she quickly set him down behind her. She clenched her right hand into a fist as she met her parent’s hooded eyes. “What are you doing here?” she asked slowly.

“Don’t I have the right to visit my own family?” Thenardier wheedled. “I hear that tonight you are celebrating my granddaughter’s birthday.”

“And you were not invited,” Enjolras cut in, tightening his grip on the _canne_ as he stepped forward. “Get out.”

“What manners these buffoons from the Midi have!” Thenardier laughed before looking at Eponine. “Come now, be my well-mannered girl and let me in!”

“My _husband_ means it, you have to leave and right now,” Eponine retorted sharply as she went down the last steps and stood at Enjolras’ side, giving Etienne an opportunity to run to the dining room. It was all she could do not to glance after the child. “I don’t care if we argue in the street, you cannot be here!”

Thenardier gaped at her before making a show of taking off his hat and wiping his brow. “You’d disgrace an old man in this way?” he cried. He suddenly paused and looked past Enjolras and Eponine. “Now why don’t you little ones say hello to your grandfather?”

Eponine shut her eyes before looking to where Laure, Julien and Etienne, as well as their cousin Maximillien, stood in the dining room door with Azelma, Jean Prouvaire, Gavroche, and Jacques. Neville was at the rear of this group, clearly hiding Ariadne. “Go back to the dining room. Your father and I will be with you in a little while,” she said, trying to keep her voice level.

“Before that, come here to give your grandfather a kiss!” Thenardier called, crouching and holding out his arms to the children. “Won’t you little dear ones come to me?”

Maximillien looked up confusedly at Azelma, who tightened her grip on his shoulders, while Julien and Etienne hid behind Jacques. Laure hesitated before shaking her head. “That’s not how grandfathers look,” she said clearly.

Thenardier gaped at her before looking at Enjolras and Eponine. “How now, they don’t know me?” he asked, eyes wide with surprise. He stretched out a hand to Azelma, who shook her head before motioning for Jean Prouvaire to bring Maximillien out of the room along with the rest of the youngsters. “Not even him?”

“It’s one thing for you to talk with me, but not to my boy. I’m his mother, and I’ve decided that you won’t have any part of it,” Azelma said, stamping her foot. “Jehan would agree with me.”

Thenardier clucked his tongue. “And what about my sons, my heirs?” he asked, looking to Gavroche, Neville and Jacques, who still stood in the doorway.

“This is a house, not a solicitor’s office,” the detective said, stepping in front of Neville and Jacques. He nodded to Enjolras. “The station house is not far off; I’ll be back with another agent and even the wagon if I can get it.”

Thenardier snarled and would have thrown himself on Gavroche if Enjolras did not put the _canne_ in front of him. The former innkeeper balked, more so when he saw Jean Prouvaire return to the hall and stand at Azelma’s side. He looked beseechingly to Neville and Jacques. “You two---”

“You don’t even remember our names!” Jacques called before Neville dragged him out of the front hall.

Thenardier looked to Gavroche one more time, but the detective had already left and shut the door loudly. His face was pale as he looked to his daughters and their husbands, but he drew himself up to his full height. “I am sure you can see this is only a misunderstanding. All I wanted was to see the little ones for a short while, perhaps give you some good cheer! And you will punish me for that?”

Enjolras levelled an icy look at Thenardier, who even when standing straight hardly came up to his shoulder. “I should also remind you that forcibly entering a private home, uninvited, is a serious crime.”

“I had a key!”

“Which I didn’t give, and I am pretty sure that Antoine wouldn’t give it either,” Eponine cut in. “Neither of us let you in; I saw where he came from and he knew I was upstairs.” 

“Why, what is a key when you are giving me a _room?”_ Thenardier laughed. “You think you’re the only one with eyes around the place? Well I know you have had builders and masons in here; that means you are planning to add a new room, aren’t you? Why don’t you let your dear old Papa stay in it, where he will be a good old gentleman?”

“It isn’t for you!” Eponine shot back. The mental image of Thenardier walking through the rooms of her family’s home was enough to make her stomach turn but she bit her lip as she looked straight at the old man. “You’re free to go elsewhere.”

“You’d turn me out to live under a bridge or in the sewers?”

“No, since I know you have been able to find better places before.”

Thenardier shook his head in disbelief before looking at Enjolras. “Are you going to let this hussy talk like this? Are you not the man of your house? I can see you do not have a firm hand with her, or she would not dare to talk to her Papa that way! What do you think your own dear parents would think if they saw you treat an old man this way?”

“If it means keeping their grandchildren safe, then so be it,” Enjolras said, setting aside the _canne_ and then opening the front door. “You have insulted my wife enough. Get out.”

Thenardier made a show of going to the door before stopping in his tracks and turning on his heels. “And you two, you will just stand there?” he asked the Prouvaires.

“We have nothing more to say to you,” Jean Prouvaire said, putting an arm around Azelma’s waist protectively. “You have insulted his wife _and_ our sister as well.”

“Then if you blood-drinkers will not shelter me, then give me my prop in my old age,” Thenardier cajoled. “Where are my two younger sons? Don’t think I have forgotten them; a father should want the best for his boys, which is why I sent them to a better family that could make them into proper little gentlemen.”

“You _let_ Maman sell them to Magnon,” Eponine hissed. “That den in the Rue Clocheperce was raided and the boys ended up on the streets where they would have starved and died if _Gavroche_ hadn’t found them and brought them to stay with me!”

“Brought up by a thankless woman, ha!” Thenardier said. “Boys need their fathers!”

“They have one,” Eponine seethed. She caught Enjolras’ eyes, which were cold with a fury she had very rarely seen. “You can tell them, Antoine,” she said in Occitan.

Enjolras’ face was steely as he nodded to her almost imperceptibly. His fists were clenched as he looked at Thenardier. “If you recall on the day that Eponine and I asked for your consent to our marriage, part of the agreement was that she would act as guardian to the younger children owing to your wanting nothing to do with them,” he said, his tone cold and deliberate. “You are right that a son needs a father, and a sister acting as guardian would, in your view, be insufficient. Therefore, I have remedied that.”

A light of horrified realization played over Thenardier’s face. “And you would deprive me of my sons through your legal documents?” He spat at Enjolras, only to have the spittle dribble down his own chin. “I do not give a fig for them!”

Azelma snorted at this display. “It wasn’t as if the boys could stay fatherless forever. My brother has made them gentlemen’s sons. So that’s how it will stay.”

Thenardier opened and closed his mouth even as the door opened to admit Gavroche with three other police agents. Instantly the conman slouched and held his head in his hands. “The police! You called them on a simple misunderstanding?” he asked, giving Gavroche a distraught look.

Enjolras glanced at his father-in-law with utter disgust. “This man illicitly entered these premises, uninvited,” he said to the newcomers.

“I see. Detective Thenardier told us though that there was no use of force, or actual destruction of a window or door?” one of the agents asked.

‘ _He definitely knew what he was doing,’_ Eponine realized, even as she saw Thenardier smirk a little smugly. “He used a key of some sort to open the lock. I s’pose you should search him,” she managed to say.

“There will be no need for that!” Thenardier shouted, now producing a skeleton key from his trousers and throwing it down. “You must understand good gentlemen; I am sure you hear many a tale but listen to me. I was a veteran at Waterloo, an elector too, and I have paid my taxes. I fell on hard times; who hasn’t in this damned city, and with my wife sick and my children so young what else could I do but scrape the crumbs of my bread and let out my overcoat? Well my oldest girl here is a smart one, she took up with this young man here, and left her poor Papa out in the cold. I could have left her, but you must also understand that I am a sentimental soul, I wanted to make sure that she was properly cared for.”

Another of the detectives nodded slowly. “What brought you here then?”

“Why, I had to check up on my girl! Even an old man who has been in prison hears things; I heard that she and her little ones were very hard-up. You can see that they have no maids, no footmen, no carriages and other pretty things that a proper family should have!” Thenardier exclaimed. He pointed at Enjolras. “This bourgeois brat tricked and seduced my daughter, and now he can hardly provide for her or their children!”

“Is this true, Citizen Enjolras?” the third of the detectives asked Enjolras.

“If he has a problem with us living within what our incomes can provide, then he is free to comment,” Enjolras replied tersely. “This does not change the fact that he is trespassing.”

“Since he did not use force nor violence, there is little to suggest that this is more than a domestic dispute,” the first of the agents said before giving Gavroche a filthy look. “Next time, make sure there is an actual crime in commission before you force us to abandon our dinner!”

“There was an actual crime, and that of trespassing!” Prouvaire exploded. “My brother-in-law and my sister-in-law were very specific as to who would be here tonight; we are supposed to have a family celebration!”

“And since you are family, you should resolve it among yourselves,” the oldest of the detectives said, closing his book. “Besides, what harm can an old gent do if he just wants to see his grandchildren?” he added, looking more seriously at Enjolras and Eponine.

“There you’ve heard him!” Thenardier laughed. He looked smugly at the two couples and shook his head with what was meant to be an expression of dismay. “But since I am clearly not wanted by these ingrates, I shall take my leave. Good evening to you all!” he said, making a low bow before slamming his hat on his head and marching out the door.

Eponine gaped after him and then at the agents. “My brother was still right to call you. You don’t know him like we do,” she said.

“I am aware that you have not been on good terms with him, but this is not grounds for recidivism,” the most senior agent said. “You should know that too, Citizen Enjolras.”

“Recidivism is an aggravating circumstance, not a charge. The facts stand that he entered here without our leave using a skeleton key and refused all reasonable persuasion to get him to leave peacefully,” Enjolras pointed out.

Gavroche picked up the key from the floor and handed it to his colleagues. “This is evidence. We all saw him produce it.”

“These are not difficult to come by,” the senior agent scoffed. He nodded to his two colleagues before adjusting his hat. “I do not believe that this situation is irreconcilable; nevertheless if he bothers you again, you know where to find the station house. Good evening to you, Citizens and Citizennesses,” he said before making a bow and leaving the house with his companions.

Eponine cursed under her breath even as she looked at Enjolras, then at Azelma, Jean Prouvaire and Gavroche. “’I’m fine, really,” she said, catching the way Enjolras looked concernedly at her even as she felt his hand now touching her back. “And I s’pose he didn’t even guess what’s new with me anyway.”

“Good,” Enjolras muttered. “It was sly of him to get that skeleton key, so he could _technically_ avoid breaking and entering.”

Eponine nodded with frustration. “I just cannot believe this. How can you even work with them, Gavroche?”

“Not everyone is of the same clay as Bahorel or even the Prefect Delessert,” Gavroche seethed. He glanced towards the door and shook his head. “We should put a watch on this house.”

“You won’t need to. He won’t be back,” Azelma chimed in. “He never strikes at the same place twice especially if he’s been found out or seen.”

“And what if he comes for the children?” Jean Prouvaire asked.

“He won’t do it by coming here again, or even to your apartment,” Eponine pointed out. ‘ _If ever that’s one thing about him that’s probably stayed the same,’_ she thought as she took a deep breath, realizing only now how clammy her hands suddenly felt. Suddenly she saw Laure standing in the dining room door, with a quizzical expression on her face. “Have you eaten dinner already, _petite_?” she asked, going to her.

“Yes, but the soup is cold now and there isn’t much left anyway,” Laure said. Her brown eyes were wide as she looked at her parents, then at her aunt and her uncles. “Was he really a bad man?”

“He’s done some terrible things, that’s why we told him to shoo,” Gavroche replied.

Laure nodded slowly. “Why was he saying he was our grandfather?”

It was all that Eponine could do to keep a straight face at this question. “He may have been my father, but he doesn’t have to be your grandfather,” she finally said, absent-mindedly dusting off Laure’s dress. “It’s a terribly complicated story.”

“When will I be old enough to know?”

“Not tonight,” Enjolras said firmly. “Let’s go back in with the others so we can share out your birthday cake.”

Azelma shuddered as she watched her niece scamper off. “I don’t know how you two can be so calm; I was so sure he was going to get Maximillien! I don’t think I shall sleep well tonight,” she said to Enjolras and Eponine.

‘ _I don’t think we shall either,’_ Eponine thought. One look at Enjolras was enough for her to guess that he was deep in thought, perhaps mired again in the memories of the last time he had dealt with an invasion of his living space. She took his hand and felt him squeeze it back as they went to rejoin the rest of the family in the dining room.

Just as they had all predicted, the soup was almost too cold to enjoy, but the quails and potatoes had not suffered very much. Even as Eponine tried to keep up with the more light-hearted conversation as everyone enjoyed dessert, she found herself watching Ariadne, who remained seated next to Neville. ‘ _I wonder what she thinks of this,’_ she thought, seeing that the girl seemed lost in her own musings when she wasn’t talking with either Neville or Jacques.

As Eponine began to clear the dishes, she caught sight of Ariadne also getting up to help with this task. She motioned for the girl to follow her into the kitchen while everyone else was occupied with helping Laure open her birthday presents. “I hope this evening wasn’t too startling for you, Miss Wright,” Eponine said to Ariadne.

Ariadne took a deep, hissing breath as she tucked a stray strand of limp hair behind her ear. “If it’s not too much to ask, could you please call me Ariadne? Every time I hear “Miss Wright”, I have to check if my mother is around,” she whispered.

“Ariadne then,” Eponine agreed. She paused to scrape some bits of food off a plate. “Where are you two lodging?”

“We have rooms not far from here, near that park known as the Luxembourg.”

“That’s a nice part of the Latin Quartier. What has Neville told you so far about…this situation here at home?”

“That you and Citizen Enjolras raised him and Jacques,” Ariadne replied stiffly, raising her chin. “I think that’s enough for me to know, isn’t it?”

‘ _For now, yes,’_ Eponine thought as she managed a nod. “What does your mother say about Neville?” she asked, stepping aside to let Ariadne also clean out a plate.

“She does not want to discuss him, she’s always going off about my meeting some rich man when she could do it herself,” Ariadne said, her tone thin with uneasiness and disgust. She took another deep breath before looking at Eponine pleadingly. “I know you can guess what my mother used to do in London. Please don’t tell anyone!” 

“I shan’t. And I hope you will be discreet too,” Eponine said. “But if you need any sort of assistance, you can come here and we shall see what we can do.”

Ariadne let out a sigh of relief. “That man though, I’ve seen his sort before. They never treated Maman well. You were right to keep him away from Neville and the rest,” she remarked.

‘ _Little do you know,’_ Eponine thought, putting some of the cutlery in a bowl of water to soak before she would clean it properly later. “He had a daughter or two, who he had the same hopes for as your mother does for you,” she said at length.

“What happened?”

“They both fell in love with good men but had to make some difficult choices.”

Ariadne nodded understandingly. “I won’t speak to Neville about that either.”

“Thank you Ariadne,” Eponine said, feeling more relieved on seeing the girl smile at this use of her given name. ‘ _Perhaps they will have a chance of it even beyond this summer,’_ she decided as they finished scraping all the dishes clean and leaving them to soak in large basins before returning to the dining room. It was another hour before at last the Prouvaires took their leave to return to their home near the Odeon, while making sure to escort Ariadne to her lodgings on the way. Gavroche also soon left for his own apartment, after promising to bring up the night’s incident in an official report at the Prefecture the next day.

“Like any good that will do!” Neville said, shaking his head as soon as Gavroche left. He looked worriedly at Eponine. “You and Ariadne talked?”

“Yes, mostly about what happened here,” Eponine replied.

“What do you think of her?”

“She’s a very brave girl. You’d better treat her well.”

“You heard Ponine,” Jacques said, nudging his older brother in the ribs. “We’ll finish the dishes and get them dry. You’d better get the little ones to bed,” he added, looking to where Laure, Julien, and Etienne were yawning in their seats.

“I think we’ve had enough for this day,” Eponine concurred as she picked up Etienne, who yawned and immediately fell asleep on her shoulder. She looked to where Enjolras had managed to get both Julien and Laure on their feet, even while conversing with Neville and Jacques. ‘ _Antoine will probably discuss this with the boys in the morning,’_ she thought as she brought Etienne upstairs to the room he shared with his siblings.

By the time Eponine had managed to get the toddler into a clean nightshirt and safely tucked into bed, Julien was already snoring in his own bed nearby, while Laure was yawning while reading a new book. She kissed Julien’s forehead and adjusted his blanket before going to sit by Laure’s bed. “Did you enjoy your birthday, _petite_?” she asked the little girl.

“Dinner was splendid! I wish you’d liked it too,” Laure replied with a grin.

“I had some fun cooking it, and it was good that you were quiet at the game,” Eponine said, helping Laure untie her hair ribbon. “Go to sleep now, little darling.”

Laure nodded before putting the book on her bedside table. “Maman, I don’t think that awful man was really my grandfather,” she said.

“Why would you say so?”

“Grandfathers aren’t supposed to be scary. I know ours isn’t, and I wish he would visit soon.”

“Maybe this Christmas,” Eponine said, thinking back on her own father-in-law Louis, who despite being in Aix most of the year, was still very much a presence in his grandchildren’s lives. ‘ _While my own father, who probably never left Paris and was actually walking free for a few years, could not be bothered to do better,’_ she mused sourly before tucking Laure in and quitting the room. By this time the house was mostly silent; she surmised that Neville and Jacques were in their respective rooms while Enjolras was also readying for bed.

When she stepped in their bedroom, Enjolras was already there and drawing the window drapes shut. ‘ _He always looks so good even in shirtsleeves,’_ Eponine thought with a smile as she watched him for a few moments. “I thought you like waking up with the sun,” she quipped.

“I think we could use a few more minutes of sleep, after today,” Enjolras said, giving her a conspiratorial look. “How are you feeling?”

“As well as can be expected,” Eponine said. She touched her stomach, just to confirm that slight bump was still there. “I think he, or more likely she, is still fine in here.”

“You had a dream about that already?” he asked bemusedly as he took off his waistcoat, followed by his trousers and his shirt.

“Nightmare is more like it.” She quickly undressed as well and got into bed but found it much too warm to sleep under even just one blanket. As he lay down beside her she reached for his hand. “How about you?”

“I’ll need some time to think things over, such as getting a bolt for the door,” he replied. He kissed her lightly and then blew out the candle next to their bed. “Good night, Eponine.”

“Good night Antoine,” she whispered, smiling as she felt him lightly rest an arm over her waist. Yet even after a few minutes of closing her eyes and trying to clear her mind, she found that sleep somehow eluded her. It did not help that her husband also was tossing and turning on his side of the bed. “Are you well?” she asked him.

“I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep,” Enjolras muttered into his pillow.

“I can’t go back to sleep if I didn’t even start to begin with,” Eponine said. She sat up and reached for the candle to relight it. “And you didn’t start either.”

Enjolras groaned as he sat up in turn and checked his pocket watch. “It’s past midnight, in fact it is almost one in the morning,” he muttered as he wound up the watch and then set it aside.

“All the more reason to have it out so we can both get to sleep,” Eponine pointed out as she began to rub his shoulders till she felt him relax in her hands. “What exactly did my father say that’s gotten under your skin this time?” she asked, looking at him keenly.

“You know how he is, never mind it.”

“And I know you better, that’s why I am minding it.”

Enjolras finally met her eyes as he pushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. “Your father mentioned that we do not live with many luxuries What do you think of it?”

“You mean a carriage, fine parties and fancy dresses?” Eponine clarified. She sighed when she saw him nod. “Why so?”

“Does even some part of you long for them?”

“What would I do with all of that?”

A slight smirk tugged at Enjolras’ lips. “You’ve never once asked me for those. You never asked if my parents could advance us anything.” 

“We’ve always done well as we are, even without your parents’ money.” Eponine took a deep breath before inching closer to him as he began to run his hands through her hair. “Antoine, do you remember how it was when we were living in the tenement, or when we moved here with the boys? We had to manage with your stipend from the legislature and the salary I was getting from the Stendhals. It did so nicely for us, and we just had to change a few things when Laure and Julien came along, then Etienne. Now we can live a little easier since you take on cases, I translate for so many people, and we both get a little extra from the writing we have done over these years. What’s so wrong with all of that?”

“When you put it that way, it seems simpler,” Enjolras said, smiling slightly. “Besides, it would hardly be _my_ providing for you if we lived on wealth that isn’t rightfully ours.”

“All the questions that would have led to, really,” Eponine pointed out, catching his hand and pressing a kiss to his fingers. “You never promised me that we’d live grandly. I didn’t think over much about that all those years ago, but now it makes more sense.”

He looked at her curiously. “Do tell.”

“You don’t promise things you can’t or will not give. And I love you all the more for it these days.” The smile that she saw tugging on his lips was heartening enough to prompt her to move closer and run her hands through his hair, more so when he leaned into her touch. “We’ve made nine years this far. That’s the longest time that anything’s gone well or more than well in my life and maybe even yours as well. I’d like to make that much longer.”

“We will.” Enjolras leaned in and kissed her brow. “Thank you, Eponine.”

Eponine sighed contentedly as they both lay down again, this time a little more closely than before. ‘ _It will be better in the morning,’_ she decided, clasping his hand as he put out the candle.


	10. Matters of Attachment

As busy as the household at 9 Rue Guisarde was on most mornings, it was rare that anyone made a visit or even casual call before seven in the morning. ‘ _What urgent matter is this?’_ Enjolras wondered a week later as he made his way downstairs to the sound of repeated knocking outside his home. He yawned and tried to rub the lingering effects of sleep from his eyes as he pulled at the newly installed bolt on the front door before unlocking it. “Bahorel? What brings you here?” he asked, seeing the detective on the doorstep.

“Some urgent news I have to pass on before I take my boys out rowing for the day,” Bahorel said, jerking a thumb towards the four youngsters peeking out from behind his coattails. He handed a sealed envelope to Enjolras. “I made a copy for you. These are the results of the autopsy on Citizen D’Aramitz.”

Enjolras opened the missive only to find it several pages long. “What was the cause?”

“A sudden severe liver inflammation,” Bahorel replied with a frown. “The details are inside.”

“Why did you furnish me with this?”

“You do not believe it anymore than I do.”

‘ _A discreet second opinion is needed then,’_ Enjolras decided. “Thank you for this, my friend. I hope you and your sons enjoy your trip.”

“Don’t worry yourself or Eponine about this overmuch,” Bahorel advised in an undertone. He turned and motioned to hi owns children. “Christophe, Alain, Sebastien, Gustave, don’t forget to greet your uncle.

The tallest of this brood, Christophe, pushed his three younger brothers forward. “Can Laure, Julien, and Etienne also join us?” he asked. “And even Jacques and Neville?”

“Perhaps next time,” Enjolras suggested before realizing that Bahorel was nodding. “This is rather sudden,” he pointed out.

“I know that the ladies have a meeting later; that’s why Therese isn’t joining us. Besides, a day out in the countryside would also be good for your little ones. I bet they are rambunctious now that classes will start again in a few days,” Bahorel pointed out. “Eponine will be at that gathering too, won’t she?”

Enjolras nodded before showing Bahorel and the boys inside. He set aside the report in the study before heading upstairs to his room. When he arrived there, he saw Eponine now up and about, splashing some water on her face. “Eponine, did you have plans for the children today?” he asked by way of greeting.

Eponine quickly turned to look at him as she dabbed a washcloth on her cheeks, which were still pale from her having been sick just a few minutes earlier. “Nothing particular. I thought of bringing them with me to the meeting, or maybe asking Cosette if they can stay with her own children for the afternoon.”

“You might not have to. Bahorel has offered to take them for the day,” Enjolras said, touching the back of her neck to try to calm her down. “He and his sons are going rowing, and his boys want ours along.”

“Even Laure?”

“Yes, Laure was mentioned.”

Eponine nodded slowly. “I s’pose it will be fine if Jacques and Neville mind them, especially Etienne. At least you taught them all how to swim last summer.”

“More like paddling in Etienne’s case, but at least he doesn’t panic,” Enjolras said.

“Good. You tell them while I get the little ones dressed,” Eponine said, smiling with visible relief as she kissed his cheek and then took his hand to lead him out of their room.

Enjolras walked Eponine to the room that their younger children shared before he went further down the hall and knocked on Jacques’ bedroom door, then Neville’s. “Bahorel is here with his boys. You’re all invited to join them too,” he said as both boys emerged from their rooms.

Jacques rubbed his eyes but soon blinked eagerly at this invite. “Right now? All of us?”

“Yes, if you wish it,” Enjolras replied, noting how Neville’s drowsy expression suddenly turned downcast. “Unless you had other plans for today?” he asked the older boy as soon as Jacques had retreated into his own quarters.

Neville opened his mouth to speak, only to jump aside to let Eponine chase after a half-dressed Etienne. “I was going to meet Ariadne, I mean Citizenness Wright, this morning since Combeferre is hosting a lecture at his house and we are both invited,” he confessed.

Enjolras put his hands akimbo. “Does her mother know about this””

“I don’t know.”

“You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“She is _not_ a game to me, Father. You know that.”

“That is why I strongly advise you to be cautious,” Enjolras said. “Citizenness Wright the elder most likely takes a different view of matters. They do things differently in England.”

“You’ve never been to England, and we’re in Paris. Doesn’t that make a difference?” Neville asked confusedly.

“Not to a foreigner. Going about without her at least being aware of the matter would earn her ire and possibly her daughter’s as well. You cannot afford to make an enemy of her.”

“With all due respect, didn’t you do the same when courting Ponine years ago?”

“Had matters stood differently between her and _her_ father, I would have obliged myself to pay the necessary courtesies,” Enjolras said sternly. ‘ _Yet another argument for a prolonged courtship in this case,’_ he decided, making a mental note to ask Eponine later if she had divined any further information concerning the Wrights’ views on this possible arrangement.

Neville hung his head. “So you will not permit me to meet Citizenness Wright?”

“I have an errand for you at the Combeferres’ house today; I need you to bring a note to them,” Enjolras said more affably. “If you meet the lady there, it will be incidental.”

“An errand this morning?”

“Yes. That leaves you at liberty for the rest of the day, and I trust you will be sensible about how to spend it.”

“Nothing wrong with hoping,” Neville muttered. “But could you or Ponine please put in a good word for me if you ever meet her mother some time?”

“Discreetly,” Enjolras said, earning a more relieved smile from the boy. He clapped Neville’s shoulder before they parted ways to finish readying for the day.

When Enjolras went downstairs a while later, now with a note in hand, Julien and Etienne were running around with the two younger Bahorel boys Sebastien and Gustave. Jacques was conversing with Bahorel and the older boys Christophe and Alain. “Where are Eponine and Laure?” he inquired.

“Laure is dressing like a lady, and Maman is in the kitchen,” Julien announced.

‘ _Right on time,’_ Enjolras thought, going into the kitchen to find Eponine already fully dressed for the day; she’d picked one of her favored red dresses and a smartly cut coat to match. Right now, she was busy packing a large basket with bread, dried fruit, and Brie. “Are you also making lunch for Bahorel and his boys too?” he asked as he found some more bread and began to slice it as well.

“I s’pose I should, you know how they _all_ eat,” she quipped. “That is for us both though,” she said, gesturing to a pot of tea on the stove.

‘ _Since coffee is off-limits for the next few weeks at least,’_ he thought as he took the pot and poured the tea into two cups that had been set out for this very reason. “Neville won’t be going with them,” he informed her.

“I guessed as much; Citizenness Dolores Wright will be joining us at the meeting later,” she said. “I s’pose he asked you if someone can say a nice thing or two about him?”

“Precisely. I believe though that this is rushed.”

“It won’t be if he and Ariadne—yes she let me call her that---can stay the course for three or so years till Neville finishes school and makes something of himself. I think going that way would soothe her mother’s worries as well, I think.”

“Do you approve of a long courtship between him and Citizenness Wright the younger?”

“I could think of worse situations for two people of their age to be in,” Eponine said, pausing to take a bite out of a piece of bread. “For as long as Neville is living here and he heeds us, we can help him do things as right as could be.”

“That is true,” Enjolras said, now handing over the note he had brought. “That’s to give to Neville; he knows his errand for today but he is still dressing upstairs.”

Eponine rolled her eyes “Well, one disadvantage of having brought him to England this summer is that he’s gotten a little fastidious.”

Before Enjolras could say anything more to this, he heard some shouts and stamping feet from the living room. “That sounds like a scuffle,” he muttered.

Eponine sighed as she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Finish your tea. You’ll be late if you deal with this first, so it’s my turn,” she said, quickly rushing out of the kitchen.

As hot as the drink was, Enjolras did his best to finish it as quickly as humanly possible, more so when he heard the voices begin to escalate. He deftly pocketed a slice of bread before heading into the living room, only to pause at the sight of Eponine remonstrating with Julien and Jacques, while Bahorel was sternly talking to his own sons. Laure stood to the side, wiping her tear-streaked face on the sleeve of her maroon coat. “What is the matter?” he asked.

“Laure is dressed like a boy! Look at her coat!” Julien cut in.

“It’s not a boy’s coat, it’s a riding habit!” Laure retorted, tugging down the sleeve of her coat, which was cut a little like a cavalier’s outfit.

“Why, it looks like one of mine!” Adrien Bahorel chimed in before his brothers cuffed him.

Enjolras rubbed his temples as he met Eponine’s frustrated grimace. “Should I?”

“I will deal with them, Antoine. You have to get to the Palais de Justice for your hearings,” Eponine said under her breath as she reached for his hand. “I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” Enjolras said, kissing her knuckles despite the groans and knowing looks of the rest of the group. A quick glance at his pocket watch told him it was seven-thirty, giving him just enough time to grab his satchel and the autopsy report in the study and then walk briskly to catch the omnibus that would take him towards the Palais de Justice.

As was the case on most Monday mornings, the Palais de Justice was bustling with people; most of them were judges, lawyers and their respective clients headed to various court proceedings, but a good many were journalists and hangers-on awaiting updates on cases of interest. Much to Enjolras’ surprise, the crowd did not seem to show any sign of dispersing even after he had concluded two consecutive hearings before noon. ‘ _Something is afoot,’_ he thought as he looked around the Palais de Justice’s large foyer, which was bustling with more people than usual. At last he spotted two familiar faces conversing near a pillar. “Good day Combeferre,” he greeted as he approached them. “And you as well, Grantaire.”

Grantaire grinned widely at him. “I see that you have been wielding the scales once more. How goes it with you?”

“Well enough,” Enjolras said warmly. “Thank you for coming, Combeferre. I’m sorry that I had to send Neville over there with a note when he was your guest. How did the lecture go?” he addressed his best friend.

“It was a most lively discussion,” Combeferre said amiably, pausing to clean his spectacles. “Though as I was just telling Capital R here, I doubt you want to speak with me about optics.”

“It concerns a medical matter,” Enjolras replied. He cleared his throat as he realized that Grantaire was listening in eagerly. “Unfortunately, it is nothing that you should write about yet.”

“And so is the word from Delphi,” Grantaire said gravely. “I’ve got a message from the wrong part of Olympus; your father-in-law has begun to take after the monks by frequenting the Church of Saint-Sulpice.”

“That is news to me.”

“Ah I see! Before you send me off with the speed of Iris, could you enlighten me about what has happened to our crow of a diplomat?”

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he motioned for his two friends to follow him upstairs to his office. Once they were inside, he shut the door and let them take their seats while he leaned against his desk. “What have you heard?” he asked, eyeing both Combeferre and Grantaire.

Combeferre leaned back in his seat. “That Citizen D’Aramitz died of natural causes.”

“Natural? The talk is that he was dispatched in prison,” Grantaire scoffed. “The question is finding the Thyestes behind this.”

Enjolras frowned at the mention of this gory Greek myth even as he brought out the report from his satchel. “This is the report on Citizen D’Aramitz’s autopsy. Apparently he perished from a liver ailment, one that acted swiftly.”

“There are several possible antecedent and proximate causes under that,” Combeferre said, donning his spectacles before opening the envelope. “Are you sure he was not a heavy drinker?”

“Absolutely. Jacques drank more than he did, at least during our time in Spain.”

Combeferre nodded slowly as he began to peruse the document. “Acute indigestion for two days, followed by jaundice, pain in the right upper quadrant of the abdomen, seizures and then unconsciousness. Yes, this points to a liver inflammation, and of the fulminant sort most likely.”

“Would you know what could cause it in an otherwise healthy man?” Enjolras asked.

Combeferre sighed as he closed the report. “Poison.”

Enjolras’ eyebrows shot upwards. “How could you conclude that?”

“His symptoms, while they do resemble other organic illnesses, are also noted in those who were found to have ingested some fatal compound. Arsenic is the one commonly used by poisoners, but one must also consider that _any_ drug taken in excess can also produce toxicity.”

‘ _Such as laudanum,’_ Enjolras could not help thinking. He shook his head to clear away the memories of his one misguided foray with this opiate. “Citizen D’Aramitz was first taken ill immediately after his sentencing. This may give us some idea as to when he could have ingested whatever it was that killed him.”

“It would still a wide time frame of several hours up to a full day before,” Combeferre pointed out. “Are defendants allowed any intake of food and water during hearings?”

“Yes; the hearing concluded in the afternoon, so he was probably given something to eat for lunch. Water, and not wine, is served during the hearings,” Enjolras replied. “Could it have been administered then?”

“Yes, or even in his breakfast,” Combeferre said more thoughtfully. He opened the report again and shook his head. “The coroner did not make any note of changes in his nails or mucosal membranes----that is the mouth and other passages—that would suggest any particular toxicity.”

“Perhaps there was none?” Grantaire suggested.

“Or whatever he took is so subtle as to go undetected.” Combeferre leaned back in his chair and shook his head pensively. “Does the Prefecture have any leads?”

“As far as many are concerned, the matter was concluded neatly with Citizen D’Aramitz’s passing,” Enjolras said. More than the nonchalance of the police surrounding this incident, what was disquieting was the sheer brazenness of the victim’s demise. ‘ _As if there was a message that had to be sent, but meant to remain untraceable,’_ he mused.

A hurried knock sounded on the door followed by Courfeyrac bursting in, looking harried. “Enjolras, do you have a moment?” he asked breathlessly. “And it’s good to see you too, Combeferre and R,” he added, seeing their other friends present.

“Some news of a battle?” Grantaire said, handing over a pocket handkerchief.

“Not a battle, but a rout,” Courfeyrac said as he took a seat and shucked off his coat. “That Citizenness Wright the matron is going to be the death of me!”

“You mean Madame Dolores Wright?” Combeferre clarified. “Her daughter attended my lecture this morning, but I did not see the older lady about.”

Courfeyrac nodded miserably as he wiped his face. “Now you know how I feel about a lady’s attentions, but she is rather excessive. She continually calls on my office, asks me to call on her, and she does not take it well if I have to speak with lady clients, even if they are already married!”

‘ _This might explain why she seems to let her daughter run around unsupervised,’_ Enjolras realized silently. “How long has this been going on?” he asked concernedly.

“Beginning the week of our introduction at the Café du Foy,” Courfeyrac said defeatedly. “I sympathize with her, I do. She has her daughter Ariadne while I have my son Armand. We’ve had to raise children on our own. But that is not a basis for love or attachment!”

“Ever the son of Aphrodite,” Grantaire quipped. “Your mere presence excites the flames of love between her---”

“R, the matter is perfectly clear,” Enjolras cut in. He studied Courfeyrac for a moment, seeing all too well his friend’s desperation mingled with embarrassment. “It would do you both well to establish some distance, or even ignore her entirely.”

“How do I do that?”

“Refuse her access to your premises. If need be, you can ask for assistance.”

Combeferre cringed openly and shook his head. “That approach _is_ straightforward but it may make her suddenly frantic as to why you suddenly cut off all acquaintance,” he said to Courfeyrac. “It would ease your conscience and her mind if you are gentle but direct with her that this state of affairs will not continue and that you have no interest in pursuing her romantically.”

“And what if she refuses to believe that?”

“Then make yourself ridiculous,” Grantaire said with a grin. “She wants a gentleman, give her a fop. Find yourself a pair of tight pantaloons, get a hat with peacock plumes, and call on her. You should see the effects immediately!”

‘ _That is until she outdoes him in ridiculousness,’_ Enjolras thought, remembering now what had transpired at the Café du Foy. Just then the office door, which had been left ajar, suddenly swung open. “Good day, Pontmercy. I thought we were to meet later?” he greeted the newcomer.

“Another postponed hearing---” Marius began before realizing that their other friends were also present. “Did I come at a bad time?”

“On the contrary you can help our dear Courfeyrac out with a predicament,” Grantaire said. “You still know English, don’t you?”

Marius raised an eyebrow, affronted at this question, as he closed the door. “Did you need something translated?” he asked Courfeyrac.

“Does your expertise extend to letting down Citizenness Wright the elder?” Courfeyrac asked despondently.

Marius paused to take in this question. “Have you actually found out what she and her daughter are doing in Paris?”

“Isn’t it obvious, it is to become Citizenness Courfeyrac?” Combeferre pointed out. “Or at the very least, to establish a situation where she and the young lady are cared for.”

“It would have been easier for her to do that in a country without a language barrier, and where they have more resources and connections,” Marius noted as he leaned against a wall. “Something must have driven them here to France.”

Grantaire leaned in eagerly. “I can see it now: fleeing the arms of a spurned lover, or some catastrophic family drama!”

“The actual explanation is likely to be more mundane,” Enjolras said. “Probably it is not commensurate to her degree of desperation.”

“People react differently when they feel cornered,” Marius pointed out. “Especially women when they feel spurned.”

Grantaire snorted. “When was the last time you had to deal with a woman spurned?”

Marius eyed him seriously. “About ten years ago, right at the time of the barricade.”

Enjolras looked down for a moment; it had been the first time in many years that anyone outside his family had ever mentioned what had actually brought Eponine to the Rue de Chanvrerie on that fateful summer night. “Interesting how that turned out,” he deadpanned.

Combeferre sucked in a breath through gritted teeth. “If your hypothesis is correct, Pontmercy, then this might be more complicated than we thought.”

“I never imagined that such trouble would arise from my being a bachelor,” Courfeyrac said ruefully. “Of those of us in the Café du Foy, I was the only man without a wedding ring.”

Before Enjolras could say anything to this, a knock sounded on his office door. ‘ _Who could that be?’_ he wondered as he crossed the room and peered out into the hallway. “Good day. Can I help you, Citizenness?” he greeted the woman standing there.

“Good day to you, Citizen, is this the office of Citizen de Courfeyrac?” the stranger greeted, brushing some dust off her green riding habit. Her voice was lilting, with that distinct liveliness of the Gascony _patois_. Her brown hair, lightened in some places by the sun, was piled atop of her head in a knot that lent some height to her diminutive frame. She peered up at Enjolras anxiously. “My name is Citizenness Karolyn. I am at the wrong office, am I?”

“Yes, but if you are looking for Citizen Maurice Courfeyrac he is inside,” Enjolras said cordially. He glanced to where his friends were now conferring among themselves. “Courfeyrac, would you know a Citizenness Karolyn?” he asked candidly.

Courfeyrac started and got to his feet. “Do you mean Charlesette Karolyn?”

“Yes, that is me!” the woman exclaimed. She looked amazedly at Enjolras and then at the room. “Silly me, I should have guessed you are his friend, Citizen Enjolras! Pleased to meet you as well,” she added, holding out her hand for him to shake.

“Welcome to Paris,” Enjolras said courteously, noting the signs of travel in her attire a moment before he stepped aside to let her enter and greet his friend. ‘ _Definitely an old acquaintance,’_ he observed, seeing how the pair met halfway in the middle of the room, talking animatedly in Occitan. He saw an all too familiar mischievous grin spreading over Grantaire’s face, thus prompting him to sign to the journalist to stay in his seat, an order which was only reinforced by Combeferre’s and Marius’ warning looks.

In the meantime, Courfeyrac had not lost his incredulous expression while conversing with Charlesette. “What are you doing here in Paris, Charlesette, I mean Citizenness Karolyn?” he asked even as he pulled on the coat he had left draped on his seat. “How were you able to get away from your parents?”

“Firstly, it has been, and always will be Charlesette to you. Secondly, I am an independent woman now with the estate in my hand,” Charlesette said pertly. “Now you! What’s this I hear that you’ve dropped the particle?”

“That old fashioned pair of letters?” Courfeyrac laughed. “For more than nine years now, I have left it in the dust.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t suit you,” Charlesette remarked. “But your parents---”

“Will do as they wish,” Courfeyrac said. He nodded to his friends. “Gentlemen, I’d like to introduce Citizenness Charlesette Karolyn. We grew up together in Gascony. Charlesette, please meet my friends Enjolras, Combeferre, Grantaire, and Marius Pontmercy.”

“A pleasure. I’ve already met your friend Citizen Enjolras at the door,” Charlesette said pleasantly as she shook the other men’s hands. “I’ve heard of you all in the news; it gets late to Gascony sometimes but always arrives eventually. It’s good to finally put faces to the names.”

“What brings you here to Paris?” Combeferre asked the lady.

“Some matters of the estate, and I guess you could say that I need the time away from Gascony. I just thought I’d pass by here to see an old friend,” Charlesette replied. “By the way what time is it? I heard from my concierge that there is a meeting of the women’s society for this afternoon; we have a chapter over at home but it’s different here in Paris, as always. It’s said to be at the Place Vendome?”

“Ah yes, the same one where all their wives are at.” Courfeyrac quickly buttoned up his coat. “Would you want me to escort you there?”

Grantaire coughed slightly. “Aren’t men, unless they are legislators or committee members, not allowed there? And even then the exceptions need an invitation.”

“It is only to the door,” Courfeyrac reassured him even as he held an arm out to Charlesette.

Combeferre was clearly holding back an expression of mirth even as he looked to where Grantaire was also making ready as if to follow the pair. “I’ll chaperone those two _and_ R,” he said to Enjolras in an undertone. “This should be interesting.”

“Indeed. Send my regards to Claudine and the twins,” Enjolras said as he clasped Combeferre’s shoulder. As Combeferre and Grantaire left the room after Courfeyrac and Charlesette, Enjolras realized that Marius had been watching the entire scene with a bewildered expression. “Is something the matter?”

“I haven’t seen Courfeyrac this…enlivened about a woman in a few years,” Marius said. “Maybe ever. This is new. He was only half as animated but equally as gallant with his last mistress.”

‘ _Which was nearly a decade ago,’_ Enjolras realized, remembering now poor Paulette Vigny, the mother of Armand. The memory of that harrowing day that Courfeyrac’s only child was born now rose before his mind’s eye, giving him pause. “She was a good woman, and a dear friend especially to Musichetta,” he said at length.

“Citizenness Karolyn will have big shoes to fill then,” Marius remarked.

“It is too early to tell,” Enjolras pointed out. “Before we all were diverted, what was it you came here for?”

“Only to tell you that I found some manuscripts that may be useful for your primer. They are in German. They are in my home; I dare not bring them here.”

“Then we shall proceed there, as soon as you are ready.”

Marius nodded as he brushed some dust off his coat. “I look forward to seeing what _Cosette_ thinks of Citizenness Karolyn. I am sure that my wife will welcome her at the meeting.”

‘ _That is if she is not occupied with keeping Citizenness Wright out of trouble,’_ Enjolras thought, but he knew better than to voice this out even as he packed up for the day and then accompanied Marius to the Marais.

When they arrived at 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire, they found the Pontmercys’ eldest son Georges lining up some toy soldiers on the house’s front stoop. “Grand-aunt Gillenormand has a visitor in the drawing room,” Georges reported to his father.

“A visitor? Probably one of the ladies of the Society of the Virgin,” Marius said as he helped up the boy.

Georges shook his head. “A gentleman from church, she says.”

‘ _That would be a first,’_ Enjolras realized on seeing Marius’ confused look. Through the years he had little opportunity to interact with his friend’s spinster aunt, but he had always considered her a pitiless figure with little sympathy to give or receive. ‘ _Even those intoxicated with orisons may want human company,’_ he thought as they entered the house.

As they passed by the grand residence’s drawing room, Marius suddenly froze in his tracks. “Good God!” he whispered, suddenly covering Georges’ eyes. “Enjolras, don’t look!”

“It is a little late for that,” Enjolras deadpanned, sure that his eyes were tricking him with the sight of Nicolas Thenardier holding Celestine Gillenormand in his arms, planting kisses on the spinster’s lips.


	11. Questionable Tastes

It had taken another half hour till Eponine had gotten the rest of the household sufficiently calmed down and fed before setting out for the day. “At last for some quiet!” she told herself as soon as she was alone in 9 Rue Guisarde. After doing a little straightening up and bringing her family’s dirty clothes to the laundress down the road, she ensconced herself in the study to work on some more translations. By the time she was finished, it was just past noon. ‘ _I’ll get things done more quickly once everyone is back at school next week,’_ she thought as she set aside some wet pages to dry.

After making a quick lunch for herself, she took a daintily cut sky blue dress from her closet and carefully packed it with some books she was to bring to the meeting at the Place Vendome. Then she headed out to find an omnibus that would bring her across the Pont Neuf and the Place du Chatelet on the other side of the Seine. From here she found another omnibus that brought her to the neighborhood of Picpus.

When she arrived at the Combeferres’ home, she found Claudine wiping the faces of her two children, Remy and Yvette; the twins clearly had just enjoyed a good lunch. “How was the lecture?” Eponine greeted her friend.

“Fantastic. Francois had the audience spellbound,” Claudine said with a smile before hugging Eponine. “How are you feeling? Not too ill these days?”

“I have good mornings and bad ones. But that should pass soon,” Eponine replied, bringing her hands down to her middle. She stopped to scoop up her goddaughter Yvette, who was clamoring for attention by tugging on her skirts. “Is Neville still here?”

“Yes, he is inside with his friends. Ariadne is here too, with some of the other girls,” Claudine said, gesturing to the door. “Neville told me that Enjolras adopted him and Jacques?”

“Yes, it was their idea to keep my father from getting to them.”

“About time that happened. I was wondering what took Enjolras so long to get around to it when he’s helped you raise them all this time!”

Eponine snorted as she helped Yvette retie a hair ribbon. “After I spent _weeks_ swearing up and down that they were not my children with him, just to clear our names all those years ago, he wasn’t going to say otherwise unless he absolutely had to.”

“I still think that incident was the dirtiest part of that legislature campaign,” Claudine said, now balancing Remy on her hip. “Come on inside, we’ve got some time yet till we have to leave for the Place Vendome.”

Eponine smiled on seeing the hustle and bustle that had overtaken the Combeferre residence after this lecture, with distinguished academics mingling with their students all throughout the ground floor. She caught sight of Neville sitting with a map on his lap, eagerly pointing out some course of travel to a group of astonished friends. Eponine only nodded to the boy before following the sound of chatter to an adjacent room. From the doorway of this chamber she espied Ariadne sitting with a small group of girls, some of which she recognized from Neville’s former classmates at the secondary school or from their neighborhood. It was easy to pick out the young English girl in this crowd, as she was the only one in a low-cut dress of flashy gold.

“Do you mean to say that you’ve spent all your life around so many elegant English boys, but you only had eyes for one from _Paris_?” one of the older girls in this group asked Ariadne. “And it had to be the one with only a single foot?”

“I didn’t know he had only one foot when we met,” Ariadne said, coloring slightly. “It was at one of the smaller lectures in London, just some days before the big one at the Royal Society. It was very crowded on the way in, and I dropped my purse while looking for a coin to get a drink with. I thought I’d lost it for good, but he dove through the crowd to get it, and he ran up to give it back to me even with everyone jostling about. So I grabbed his arm to help him and there we were!”

“What? Tell us more!” a younger girl shrieked. “He gave back your purse, and then?”

“Well I saw that he was Doctor Combeferre’s assistant, so I sat by in my chair and _he_ sat near me throughout the lecture. If you’d seen him then!” Ariadne gushed.

“We see him all the time at school,” the first girl drawled. “Why, what would have an English boy have done?”

“Minded his own business, but even the nicer ones wouldn’t have walked me to my chair or asked to be properly introduced after the lecture,” Ariadne said, ducking her head slightly upon seeing that all the girls were listening in eagerly. “Then he gave me the schedule for _all_ their next lectures, and I did my best to go when my mother allowed it. Once it was raining very hard, and it was muddy everywhere. Neville took off his coat all of a sudden and spread it before my feet so I could get into the carriage without muddying my shoes. Then on the day before he left England, he called on me with a single red rose in hand and asked if he could write to me---every day!” 

“That is _so_ romantic!”

“I didn’t know he had it in him!”

“Why can’t Aimery be like that?!”

Outside the room, Eponine could only smile on hearing such talk. ‘ _A good thing that Neville has learned a bit from Jehan,’_ she thought even as she stepped into the doorway and nodded to Ariadne. “May I have a word with you, Citizenness?” she called to the girl.

Ariadne stood up confusedly and crossed the room to meet Eponine in the hallway. “Did I do something wrong?” she asked in a hushed tone.

“Oh not at all. Are you going to the meeting later?” Eponine asked.

Ariadne shrugged. “My mother said I could. Should I?”

“I think it would be good for you; I was just your age when I began attending them,” Eponine said as she brought out the dress from her bag. “This would fit you better, I think. That ball gown isn’t for this occasion, Ariadne.”

Ariadne’s eyes widened as she inspected the simply cut but elegant blue dress. “Isn’t it a little plain for a meeting with ladies?”

“Everyone dresses just so, since most of us come from work or making calls. It isn’t often that anyone goes dancing or somewhere grand after,” Eponine explained, indicating her own attire.

Ariadne breathed a sigh of relief. “When do I give the dress back to you?”

“Keep it,” Eponine said. ‘ _Maybe I should ask Chetta, Therese, and Nicholine about how to get some better fitting things for her too,’_ she thought as Ariadne quickly excused herself to change. In the meantime she sought out Claudine, who was helping her children put on their hats and coats. “Is Citizenness Wright the elder meeting us here at or at the Place Vendome?” she asked.

“The Place Vendome; she said that if she is not here by two that we’d best go ahead,” Claudine said with a frown. “You saw what Ariadne was wearing? Poor girl.”

“I remedied that,” Eponine whispered. She smiled as she now saw Ariadne emerge, smoothing out the skirt of the blue dress. “You look lovely, Ariadne. I could have sworn it was made for you!”

The girl smiled shyly. “Thank you Citizenness Enjolras,” she said in her heavily accented French. She blushed deeply when she caught sight of Neville now stumbling in with some friends. “Is this nice?” she asked.

Neville started and for a moment his jaw hung open. “Yes. That’s---” he began before blushing as well. “I wish I could walk you home,” he blurted out.

“You will get to do that someday,” Eponine remarked. “Will you head straight back to the Latin Quartier after this?” she asked Neville more loudly.

Neville gestured to his friends. “We’ll be around, but I’ll be home before Citizen Bahorel drops off the others.”

“Please do. All the same I’ll try to also be back quickly,” Eponine said before stepping out with Claudine and the two young twins. She glanced back to where Ariadne and Neville were quickly talking, just in time to see the boy kiss the girl’s cheek. _‘Things were very different for me when I was that young,’_ she reflected silently as she motioned for Ariadne to hurry up and head out the door to a waiting fiacre.

Within the hour they had arrived at the Place Vendome, which had retained its reputation for being a favored gathering place for the more radical and progressive groups of Paris. Even before alighting from the carriage, Eponine already espied another friend, Therese Bahorel, waiting agitatedly at the door of the house they were to meet in. “Therese! Is something going on?” she asked, jumping out to greet her.

Therese laughed drolly as she caught Eponine’s arms first, then hugged her. “I only want to ask what on earth is going on in England! Are all women there like that Citizenness Wright?” she asked in Occitan.

Eponine bit her lip, aware of Claudine and Ariadne watching them. “Who is she with?” she asked in French.

“Cosette and Musichetta are trying to entertain her,” Therese said. She hugged Claudine and her children before extending her hand to Ariadne. “You must be Dolores’ daughter. You can call me Therese, or Citizenness Perrot if you are feeling formal.”

“Ariadne. My name is Ariadne,” the girl replied, shaking Therese’s hand. She looked nervously at Eponine. “What’s my mother going to say about this dress?”

“I will tell her it was a gift,” Eponine said confidently as they, as well as Claudine and the children entered the house, which was filled with women mingling and conversing over each other. Eponine waved to some friends before she nudged Therese gently. “I should thank you and Bahorel along with your boys. Your sons invited my own children and even my brothers to join them rowing,” she said confidentially.

“The children enjoy each other’s accompany. Besides I think my Christophe has taken a little fancy to your Laure,” Therese said, squeezing Eponine’s arm. “It will probably pass, you know how these children are,” she added on seeing Eponine’s horrified look.

“Your other sons did have something to say about my girl’s riding habit,” Eponine pointed out, earning her a knowing eye-roll from Therese. “Haven’t they seen a girl dress so before?”

“I’d give them a sister to demonstrate the fact, but I think _four_ boys in ten years is enough,” Therese said. She looked down and clasped Eponine’s arm again. “Speaking about four, congratulations! When do you think you’ll meet this little one?”

“If I count things right, by March,” Eponine replied. She bit her lip at the sound of Dolores’ shrill voice carrying over the din in the ground floor. She nodded to Ariadne to follow her as she sallied into the living room where the Englishwoman was talking loudly to anyone who would listen; of those nearest her, only Cosette wore a patient expression while Musichetta had taken to conversing with other friends, including Nicholine Grantaire.

Dolores’ eyes, which were rimmed thickly with kohl, widened upon catching sight of her daughter. “Ariadne! Weren’t we supposed to match?” she screeched, indignantly gesturing to her own tightly-fitting gold dress. “How will you attract a man this way?”

“It was a gift,” Eponine cut in, stepping forward before Ariadne could flee. “Look how lovely she looks, and so like a _girl of seventeen_. This was made by one of the best dressmakers in Paris!” she added, looking to Musichetta.

Dolores glanced at Musichetta before giving her daughter a less critical look. “That’s fresh for a country frolic, not society. Still it goes well with your hair,” she decided. She patted Cosette’s hand. “It was lovely talking with you, Baronness Pontmercy. Now I must also talk with Mrs. Enjolras too,” she crooned as she got to her feet.

‘ _Cosette will handle Ariadne just fine,’_ Eponine thought, locking eyes with Cosette knowingly before suddenly finding Dolores at her side. “Your daughter had a good time at the lecture in the Combeferres’ house today,” she said after a moment.

“Oh those! I don’t know why she is so interested in them,” Dolores scoffed as she fanned herself. Do you know any young men who are?”

“I know a few, and very good ones.”

“That’s not the sort she should go after, unless they are young lords!”

“Young lords keep to themselves and their own kind, as I’ve learned during my time in London,” Eponine pointed out dryly. “Here in Paris, our students are more congenial to all sorts of girls, no matter their station.”

“Speaking of students, aren’t any of them coming here?” Dolores sniffed. “As I was telling the Baronness, I thought this would be the place to meet gentlemen!”

Eponine glanced at Cosette, who had overheard this and could only answer with a shrug. “I’m not sure if anyone mentioned it to you, but as a rule the _Societe_ doesn’t allow men in for most of our meetings. Some of the women prefer to be here without their husbands, fathers or brothers, and there are those who have _very_ good reasons to not be around some men they know,” she said in an undertone. It was not unheard of for women to turn up at meetings of the _Societe_ , bruised and battered, expressly for the purpose of looking for some recourse. _‘And we cannot do it if there are men who might go talking or shouting about,’_ she thought as she caught sight of Claudine talking to an acquaintance who had just escaped such a situation.

Dolores only fanned herself harder. “But surely there are exceptions?”

“Only by invitation, and that extends only to sitting legislators and committee members,” Eponine answered. “My own husband was only invited here about five times in the four years he was in the legislature, and he has not been back since he gave up his seat at the end of his term.”

“Such a shame!” Dolores said. “I had hoped to see that dashing Citizen Courfeyrac here.”

Eponine started at this. “Courfeyrac, as in our friend the lawyer, Courfeyrac?”

“Is there any other in Paris?”

“Apart from his son? None.”

“You _must_ tell me more about him. Was he not a friend of your husband, back when they were still students?” Dolores prattled on, looping her arm around Eponine’s.

“A classmate back then, and rather more like a brother nowadays,” Eponine answered. “His son Armand is my husband’s godson.”

“Ah yes, the boy,” Dolores said drolly. “And who was his mother?”

“A dear friend, something of a sister to me,” Eponine replied, smiling ruefully at the recollection of the vivacious woman with chestnut hair and a dimple in her left cheek, who had been so instrumental in getting her involved in politics. ‘ _If you could see where we all are now, Paulette, you would be so proud,’_ she thought.

Dolores cocked her head to the right. “Were they ever married?”

“No, it was impossible for them all those years ago, before she died an untimely death.” Eponine looked at her querulously for a moment. “Why do you ask?”

“There are many reasons a man and a woman might not marry,” Dolores muttered before smiling more brightly as she tightened her grip on Eponine’s arm. “And has he had any other loves or mistresses since then?”

“All his devotion is for his son Armand,” the younger woman said, her voice brimming with pride for her friend. “As I see yours is for your daughter Ariadne.”

“I cannot keep her forever, you know that is the way of daughters,” Dolores remarked. She gave Eponine a sidelong glance. “Someday my Ariadne will be a great lady, with servants at her beck and call, fine parties and dances at her manor, and dresses embroidered with the finest jewels.”

“How do you mean for that to happen?”

“Citizenness Enjolras, there is only one way that ever happens.”

At that moment Musichetta walked up with a glint in her eyes. “Courfeyrac is outside, he has someone to refer to us,” she said in Eponine’s ear.

“Excuse us for a minute,” Eponine said to Dolores before making her way through the crowd. It was not unheard of for such sudden introductions to occur before the _Societe_ convened its meetings. She followed Musichetta outside only to find Courfeyrac, Combeferre, and Grantaire waiting in the street, animatedly conversing with a short woman in a green riding habit. “Is this our new friend?” she asked amiably.

Courfeyrac grinned at her. “Eponine, I’d like to introduce Charlesette Karolyn, another escapee from the town of Auch, like myself. Charlesette, may I introduce Eponine Enjolras, who is strictly from Paris. Charlesette would like to participate today, being from your sister society in our hometown.”

“Montfermeil is almost Paris these days,” Eponine quipped as she held out her hand. The familiarity with which Courfeyrac referred to this tanned newcomer was all too evident, and it was all she could do to keep a straight face. “Welcome to Paris, Citizenness Karolyn.”

“I insist on being called Charlesette, or everyone will confuse me with my mother,” Charlesette laughed. She smiled widely at Eponine, looking her over with an expression of wonder. “I’ve read so much about you too, especially the things you write. I feel as if we’ve already met.”

“I would feel the same way too if Courfeyrac here had introduced you earlier! Now let us remedy that!” Eponine said, glancing at Courfeyrac chidingly. She nodded to Combeferre and Grantaire. “Shall I ask Claudine and Nicholine to also join us?”

“There will be no need for that, I know your meeting will start soon, and we have other things to see to,” Combeferre replied gallantly. “I wish you good luck on your meeting today.”

“Congratulations as well on your lecture,” Eponine said before smiling at Charlesette. “Let’s go in before they start without us!”

Charlesette’s eyes widened as she took in the sight of the hullaballoo in the house. “In Auch we only have thirty, maybe forty at meetings. Here, you seem to have at least sixty!”

“We’ve had up to five hundred in our largest meeting this year—which I was not present at since I was in Italy!” Eponine said. “Today I s’pose we have about a little less than half of that, which will mean we will have to speak on the stairs to be heard throughout the floor.”

Just then, Dolores burst through the crowd. “So there was a gentleman here after all?” she snapped at Eponine. “Where is Citizen Courfeyrac?”

“He has other appointments today,” Eponine replied in a level tone in French.

“Why, he did not tell me!”

“Is he supposed to?” Charlesette remarked icily. “Are you his mother?”

Dolores’ lip curled with disdain as she looked down at Charlesette. “Who might you be?”

“You can call me Citizenness Karolyn,” Charlesette said, raising her chin as she looked Dolores over from head to toe. “You aren’t from Paris, are you?”

“I am from England,” Dolores retorted. “I am sure even _peasants_ have heard of it?”

“Citizenness Wright, _please_ ,” Eponine said tersely in English, aware that most of the assembled company was watching this scene. Claudine stood near, with her children handed off to Musichetta in case there was a need to intervene. Ariadne also was a few paces away, looking as if she wanted to sink into the floor. “The two of you are new to Paris; Citizenness Wright is from London, Citizenness Karolyn is from Auch in Gascony. I s’pose there is a lot you can both tell us all during this meeting,” Eponine said quickly in French.

“I am sure there’s a lot I can say about Auch,” Charlesette replied. “That is if you will let me?” she added more thinly, looking at Dolores.

“Let me make something clear, girl,” Dolores said, staring at Charlesette. “Citizen Courfeyrac and I have been introduced properly. You might say we have an attachment, which is decent and decorous. If you think you can simply lead him away like a provincial hussy from nowhere, then you have another think coming!”

“We’ve been more than introduced, by the way,” Charlesette said coolly. “I’ve known him since childhood.”

“Ladies, please!” Simone Moreau-Bamatabois called, now climbing to the top of the stairs. The pert chairwoman of the women’s society cleared her throat. “Let’s get this meeting in order; we will not be serving dinner here!”

Eponine giggled even as a ripple of laughter spread through the room and some of the other women applauded Simone. She bit her lip as she saw Dolores glare at Charlesette before storming off to complain to Ariadne. ‘ _This will be a feud,’_ she realized even as she watched the feisty Gascon being swept up in conversation with Musichetta and Therese.

Simone rapped the bannister to call everyone’s attention. “Firstly we’d like to welcome some new faces here. First is Citizenness Dolores Wright and her daughter Ariadne, just arrived from England. Then we have another, Citizenness Charlesette Karolyn?”

Charlesette nodded. “Yes, that is my name.”

“You three always very welcome here,” Simone said warmly before bringing out a paper to read out the agenda for the afternoon’s gathering.

Eponine breathed a sigh of relief as she listened to her friend’s words followed by the ensuing discussions as the agenda was tackled point by point over the next two hours. “It used to be a lot more disorganized years ago when we first started out,” she said to Charlesette at one point.

“I could imagine; we are that way now in Auch,” Charlesette remarked. “We’ve only been at it for some two years. I heard that you were once chairperson here in Paris?”

“For three years; I turned it over directly after that to her when we had an election,” Eponine said, proudly glancing to Simone. “In Auch, you are?”

“No one of importance among in our women’s society; many of them are older than I am,” Charlesette said. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“That _is_ young; I turned thirty-three a few weeks ago.”

‘ _Definitely not far from Courfeyrac’s age’_ Eponine thought even as the meeting continued. After several lively debates and discussions on upcoming projects and communications from other groups and a few philanthropists, the meeting proper soon ended, leaving everyone free to mingle and chat to their heart’s content. Eponine snuck a quick glance at her watch, which showed the time to be about five in the afternoon. ‘ _Unlike some of the ladies here, I still have to get something for dinner,’_ she reminded herself as she bid goodbye to her friends.

As she stepped out of the house, she immediately caught sight of a tall figure carrying a large satchel and reading a newspaper while standing near the column that marked the middle of the Place Vendome. ‘ _He sometimes still forgets the effect he has on people,’_ Eponine thought amusedly, all too aware of the gawking and tittering coming not only from the house but even from other bystanders. She crossed the square and sauntered up to Enjolras, seeing him put down the newspaper only a second before she reached him. “This is a surprise, Antoine,” she whispered before kissing him soundly.

Enjolras pulled away after a few seconds, but he smiled as he touched his forehead to hers. “So was this. How did your meeting go?”

“Well enough,” Eponine replied, glancing back to where some of the women who’d been at the meeting were now giving her envious looks. “At least as well as can be managed with Citizenness Wright being rather testy with Charlesette.”

“You’re able to address Citizenness Karolyn as such?” Enjolras asked.

“You know her?”

“She was looking for Courfeyrac at the Palais de Justice. That was how he introduced her to me as well as Combeferre, Pontmercy, and Grantaire.”

Eponine laughed, imagining now how that scene must have played out. “I like her. She’s not the sort to easily scare,” she said as they now began walking out of the Place Vendome. Something about him seemed rather discomfited, prompting her to clasp his hand and slip her fingers between his. “How were your hearings today?”

“They also went well. No out of court settlements, only a simple discussion of facts and then the verdicts,” Enjolras said, glancing down at their intertwined hands. “Eponine, we should stop by the Tuileries for a few minutes,” he suggested.

“Why, do we need to meet someone?” she asked. She raised an eyebrow when Enjolras remained silent as they continued to walk. “Antoine, what is it?”

“I’ll tell you when we get there,” Enjolras said a little tersely. “We probably should be sitting down when we talk.”

‘ _What is on his mind?’_ Eponine wondered worriedly as they made their way to the famed gardens known as the Tuileries, located right by the Seine. Surely if he had some other pressing trouble, he would have had no qualms of telling her right away, even while walking in the street. ‘ _It must be something serious then,’_ she decided as they found a bench alongside one of the park’s more secluded paths.

Enjolras took a deep breath as he looked at her, then at the path in front of them. “I went with Pontmercy to the Marais after work. He had some volumes translated out from German that would be useful for the primer,” he began, indicating the bag he carried. He paled slightly before shaking his head. “While we were there, we saw your father visiting his aunt. Actually, visiting would be an understatement.”

Eponine frowned confusedly. “An understatement? You mean wasn’t just a polite call or something of that sort.”

“It was not polite _per se_ , it was courting.” Enjolras blanched before shaking his head. “Indecorously, might I add.”

“Antoine, you are joking. Please tell me you are joking,” Eponine whispered, feeling a pit of disbelief in her stomach at these words. Yet when she looked at Enjolras again, there was no denying the disgust and even horror in his mien. “This isn’t some practical joke that someone put you up to?”

“Eponine, why would I joke about such a thing?” he muttered, holding his head in his hands. “I _saw_ it with my waking eyes, in the drawing room.”

“Oh God,” she whispered. At that moment the image of the drawing room at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire came to her mind, only this time with the lurid sight of her father embracing the spinster. She clapped a hand to her mouth as she felt her stomach lurch. “Antoine---”

“Into the bushes,” he directed, swiftly moving to hold her hair away from her face even as she retched. He sighed as he rubbed her back between her shoulder blades. “This was why I had us sit down.”

Eponine nodded and clasped his hands as she felt the worst of the queasiness abate. “Was anyone else with you?” she asked as she sat up.

“Marius and his older son.”

“Oh no. What is Cosette going to say when she finds out?”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed as he shook his head. “I do not think I wish to even _witness_ that particular conversation.”

“Especially once she finds out that Georges saw it,” Eponine whispered. “Why though?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why would my father do this? And with _Citizenness Gillenormand_ , of all people?”

“I wish I knew,” Enjolras said, taking her hand once again. “But we have to find out soon, before he furthers whatever plan this is."


	12. A Man Has His Reasons

The next few days for Enjolras and Eponine were a tumult of work interspersed with handling various household affairs such as making sure that Neville, Jacques, Laure, and Julien had everything they needed for their classes the next week. “It’s just as well that sometimes you’re allowed to work here from home. You always have so many people calling on you at the Palais de Justice,” Eponine remarked one morning as she and Enjolras were working side by side at their desks in their study.

“I could do that when working on the primer, but not on cases,” Enjolras said as he dipped his pen into his inkwell. He looked up at the sound of children’s laughter from out in the hall; today the four Pontmercy children were spending the day at the Rue Guisarde while Marius and Cosette accompanied Bossuet on a day trip to their newly refurbished factory just outside of Paris. “Next week we can ask the builders to come in and make a final quote on the renovations upstairs. It will be easier to do that when _most_ of the children aren’t underfoot.”

“Someone still has to mind Etienne,” Eponine pointed out even as a frantic knock sounded on the front door. “I’ll see who that is,” she said, standing up and pushing her chair back before leaving the room.

Enjolras turned his attention back to his work, which for today consisted of making notes on the translated texts that Marius had given him. ‘ _Then onto the Polish policy, then the Mediterranean, and then lastly the English,’_ he decided even as he saw Eponine rush back in the room, with Ariadne Wright in tow. “Is something the matter?” he asked, seeing the young girl’s very flustered mien.

“Citizen Enjolras, I’m sorry to come in like this, but I didn’t know where else to go,” Ariadne said in broken French as she wiped her hands on the skirt of her too-large dress. “My mother has not been home since last night. She said she’d go to a party last night, she stepped out with a gentleman and she didn’t come for breakfast.”

“Can she stay here till we have to go to the police and report Citizenness Wright missing?” Eponine asked in an undertone. “She’s all alone in their apartment.”

Enjolras sighed as he looked from Eponine to Ariadne. “At what time did your mother leave your apartment?” he asked the girl slowly in English.

Ariadne counted on her fingers, as if recalling something. “Eight in the evening, Sir.”

“Then if we have no news of her by dinner, which is in about twelve hours, we will go to the police,” Enjolras said calmly, looking at her tear-streaked face. “Neville is outside with his siblings, if you want him.”

Ariadne nodded with a smile of relief. “Thank you Citizen Enjolras,” she whispered before bolting out of the study.

Eponine’s eyes widened with an incredulous expression as she closed the door after Ariadne. “I thought you did not approve?” she whispered as she sat next to her husband. “By the way the mail just arrived,” she added, putting a bundle of letters on her desk.

“I would rather that they move cautiously, especially after what you have told me of the older Citizenness Wright’s temperament. Yet as you said, there are worse situations for a girl her age,” Enjolras reasoned. As he began to sort through their mail, he smirked at the more muffled sounds from outside that were enough to tell him that Ariadne and Neville had just met elsewhere in the house. “The more pressing question is this: where is her mother?”

“Heaven knows what has gotten into Dolores; what I am sure of is that Courfeyrac is not involved in this,” Eponine noted as she picked up her pen once more. “I wish that _he_ was more honest with Charlesette!”

“What do you mean?”

“She does not know about Armand.”

Enjolras sighed deeply as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “How did you know?”

“I guessed. You told me that she didn’t know that Courfeyrac had dropped the particle. I’ve never seen Courfeyrac bring Armand around her at least this past week, and she talks like he’s still the same bachelor he always was!” Eponine muttered furtively. “I mean he is still a bachelor, but you understand my meaning?”

“Perfectly,” Enjolras said, already envisioning the sordid scenarios that were likely to arise if Courfeyrac persisted for too long with this omission. ‘ _I may need to call on him soon,’_ he thought as he finished going through the pile of notes. “Some are from Aix, for both of us. There are a few from England for you, two each from Spain for you and me, and three from Italy but addressed to both of us ,” he said, handing some letters to Eponine.

“Ah yes from Ambassador Delaroche, as well as the Willamsons and the Calamys,” Eponine said with a grin. “Of course, _Senora_ de Polignac wrote back, and she’s got a friend too. Who wrote to you from Spain?”

“I have one from Citizen de Polignac, and another from Madrid, _Senor_ Ortiz. The Italian letters are from Agosta, Riva, and even Mazzini. They all wrote from Genoa, so there is something afoot there.” Before Enjolras could break the seal on Mazzini’s letter, he heard another knock from outside. This time he got up from his desk and went to the front door, where a burly figure waited anxiously. “Citizen Belmont, this is unexpected,” he greeted.

“It is, but so is news that I have,” Belmont said. He looked a little more composed than he had been on their last meeting after testifying against D’Aramitz, but he had yet to regain the weight he had lost. “Did I interrupt something?”

“Not particularly,” Enjolras reassured him as he showed him into the house, only to find Eponine peeking curiously out of their study. “Eponine, I’d like to introduce Citizen Luc Belmont. Citizen Belmont, please meet my wife Eponine,” he explained.

Eponine smiled brightly as she came forward to shake Belmont’s hand. “It’s good to _finally_ meet you, Citizen. Thank you for taking care of my husband and Jacques during their mission.”

“The pleasure is mine, Citizenness. Your renown, both of you, extends rather far into Spain,” Belmont greeted, managing a smile before Eponine quickly excused herself. “You’re a lucky man, Enjolras. If I ever met a woman of her caliber earlier, perhaps I would not be a confirmed bachelor,” he said to Enjolras in an undertone.

‘ _Perhaps, but matrimony is not the cure to his current woes,’_ Enjolras thought as they took seats in the sitting room. “I take you have news from the Home Office?”

Belmont nodded slowly. “Citizen Brisbois permanently resigned from the foreign service; he handed in his resignation letter yesterday. Citizen Philippon was also relieved from his post, but he intends to contest that vehemently.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth at this information. “That is not surprising. And yourself?”

“I have been offered the embassy to Prussia,” Belmont said. “It is a good post, but I have my reservations about taking it.” 

The younger man raised an eyebrow at this. “What stays your hand then?” 

“The diplomatic corps is rather strict about career advancement. As you might have seen, lateral transfers as opposed to those who rise through the ranks in a single office are not looked on as kindly.” Belmont took a deep breath. “This was a point of contention between me and the….late Citizen D’Aramitz. He too was vying for the post of ambassador to Spain; we’d started as attaches together for that country, and the post was given to me.”

“To be more to the point, I believe that career diplomats should not remain in one place for too long; it avoids enmeshments that could potentially jeopardize the embassy,” Enjolras remarked. “Is this your only reservation about this new move?”

“Prussia is _not_ Spain. The rules of court are different there, and the entanglements are possibly even more treacherous in that kingdom,” Belmont hissed.

“Perhaps a little study of the situation at Prussia might ease your mind,” Enjolras suggested, thinking back now on the materials he had in the study. He made room for Eponine to sit next to him as she returned with a pot of tea and three cups. “Everything well?”

“Everyone is still playing outside. They’ll all get sunburns,” Eponine said knowingly as she poured some tea, stopping to let Enjolras help her steady the pot. “Will you be staying on for luncheon, Citizen Belmont?” she asked their guest.

“Sad to say, I have an assignation elsewhere at that time,” Belmont said, picking up the first filled cup. “I came here mainly to consult with your husband about my next career move.”

“I s’pose then you will no longer be the ambassador to Spain?” Eponine asked before taking a sip of tea.

“That is correct, if I accept this.”

“And if you do not?”

Belmont looked down pensively. “That possibility has not been examined yet. If so, I may have to remain in Paris till some office or embassy is given to me—and at that juncture I may not be able to refuse.”

‘ _In that case it might be an affront to him if he is given an embassy to a small state, or if he is demoted to an attache post,’_ Enjolras realized as he picked up his own cup. “I believe that some knowledge would go a long way in helping make your decision,” he reiterated at length. “You have time to consider this?”

“Only till next week,” Belmont admitted. “On lighter topics however, you have been keeping up correspondence with the de Polignacs?”

“It’s only just beginning since we did only return from Aix three weeks ago, but _Senora_ de Polignac’s letter is delightful,” Eponine said. “I should wish to meet her someday!”

“She and Audric—that is Citizen de Polignac, are a wonderful pair. I hope they stay safe; the court in Madrid has recently become treacherous,” Belmont told her.

‘ _Considering the regent Espartero’s reputation, that is hardly surprising,’_ Enjolras thought as he took another sip of tea. After a few more minutes of discussing a few mutual acquaintances in the diplomatic corps, Belmont took his leave. Enjolras set down his cup of tea and looked to where Eponine was also finishing her drink. “How do you estimate him?”

“He is too trusting, and perhaps likes things too safely,” she said. “How does he manage being an ambassador amid so much intrigue?”

“Perhaps because he started off in a time with less of it,” he deadpanned.

“You’re _terrible_ sometimes, Antoine,” Eponine laughed as she put aside her tea and then kissed him soundly. She eyed him teasingly as she traced a finger down the line of his jaw. “We should get some work done before I have to start with cooking our lunch.”

“That we should,” Enjolras concurred. Even in those few steps between the living room and the study, he could not help but take in the sight of Eponine, from how her hair fell in a rich cascade down her back, as well as the way her blue work dress flowed so easily over her curves. If he looked more closely he could just catch the slight swell of her belly, the only visible sign to him of the child growing within her. As soon as they were back in the study, he deftly locked the door. “We cannot afford any interruptions.”

Eponine giggled as she kicked off her shoes and then pulled him by his collar to the chaise in their study. “It’s fine, you’re not going to hurt me,” she whispered.

“All the same, we have to be careful,” Enjolras insisted, lying down and then pulling her down on top of him. Before she could protest he caught her lips in a hard kiss that had her moaning into his mouth. He buried his hands in her hair, enjoying its softness between his fingers, even as she began unbuttoning his waistcoat. Her lips soon followed each spot where her hands had roamed, and it was all he could do not to groan too loudly as he gripped her hips. “Damn it, Eponine.”

Eponine laughed against his skin before planting a kiss on his sternum. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Still manage to look so _good_ after all these years?”

Enjolras smirked as he drew her up to kiss her nose. “I should ask the same about you.”

Eponine took a deep sucking breath at these words, even as a slight blush tinged her cheeks. “I never was pretty, and now that I’m a mother of three, well, four, that makes matters worse.”

“I do not believe so,” To further emphasize the point, he kissed her again on her mouth, this time more slowly till he heard her sigh his name. “The respect and affection I have had for you has never diminished. Quite the opposite in fact.”

She smiled softly as she touched her forehead to his. “I love you, Antoine.”

Enjolras answered her with another kiss, this time bringing his hands lower to slowly unbutton her dress just enough to reveal the slope of her shoulders. He moved his lips down to her neck, feeling her shiver and gasp as he kissed her pulse point. He felt her grip on his hair tighten as he planted a kiss under her left collarbone, prompting him to redouble his caresses hard enough to leave a mark. “You have no idea what you really do to me,” he said as he looked up to meet her eyes, which were wide with wonder and arousal.

Eponine laughed as she began winding his hair around her fingers. “You just had to leave a reminder?” she asked, bringing one hand down to the mark on her shoulder.

Enjolras smirked, knowing that she got the point. “And you will reciprocate?”

“Oh, I’ll make sure you’ll tie your cravat higher tomorrow,” Eponine quipped, tracing her fingers over his throat. She sighed as the sound of running and laughter came from the hallway. “And what about that?”

“All I will say to it is that I will definitely see you later,” Enjolras said as he began to help her fasten her dress. Even though it had been some weeks since they had last made love, owing to their being careful while she was still in the early stages of pregnancy, he was not about to deny her the opportunity to make this up for as long as she willing. He sat up to button up his waistcoat while she ran her fingers through her hair to comb it out. “What did you have in mind for lunch?”

“Garlic soup is the simplest, considering we have so many guests here today,” Eponine said. “We’ll have to go to the market after this, to get more eggs and bread. I s’pose we can also check if Citizenness Wright is also home.”

“If she isn’t, it would be good to at least begin asking the neighbors,” Enjolras suggested as he got up to unlock the study door.

By the time that Neville, Jacques, Laure, Julien, Etienne, as well as the four Pontmercys and Ariadne Wright ran back into the house, a little overheated and more than ready for their meal, Eponine and Enjolras had just managed to get the garlic soup poured into a large platter with warm bread and freshly poached eggs. “There’s some cheese also in the larder if you want to add to it,” Eponine called to the crowd of youngsters as they all took their seats at the dining table.

“We eat more like this on usual days,” Neville explained to Ariadne, who seemed startled at this simple meal. “Especially when everyone is at work or school for the most part.”

“No it’s not that, Neville,” Ariadne said. “I’m surprised your mother cooks. Mine can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Jacques quipped. “There is a difference.”

“Jacques, don’t be unkind,” Enjolras said reprovingly before helping Eponine serve out the soup, making sure that each person had two slices of bread and two eggs each. Even as he did this he noticed Laure and Julien poking and nudging Georges and Marie-Fantine Pontmercy under the table. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Georges is telling a silly story about his grand auntie,” Laure said with a frown.

“Grand Auntie was kissing an old man yesterday!” Marie-Fantine chimed in. “We were hiding in the drawing room when they came in kissing. It was very funny!”

Eponine’s jaw dropped. “Do you know who the old man was?”

Georges shook his head. “He’s that same man that Papa told me not to look at a few days ago. Do you know who he is Aunt Eponine, Uncle Enjolras?”

“You’ll have to ask your father about that some other day,” Enjolras pointed out quickly.

Julien wrinkled his nose. “But do you know him, Papa?”

‘ _I do, but that does not mean you should not,_ ’ Enjolras thought. “I’ll tell you and Laure about it when you are a little older, and Etienne too,” he said in a level tone, aware of Neville and Jacques also listening in with looks of growing horror on their faces.

Marie-Fantine chewed thoughtfully on a piece of bread. “Does Papa know why that man was holding Grand Auntie all funny too?” she asked, holding up her hands as if miming pulling a body to her.

“That’s it,” Eponine muttered, putting down her spoon. “Georges, Marie-Fantine, I’ll talk to your parents when they come for you two and Jean and Lucille later. They’ll…talk to you about it.”

“But what about us, Maman?” Laure asked, looking at her mother. “Will you tell us too?”

“We’ll talk about it later, _petite_ , after we help Ariadne find her mother.”

‘ _Of all things to happen right now,’_ Enjolras cursed inwardly as he rubbed his temples while trying to chew on a mouthful of poached egg. He glanced at Eponine, who was now staring at her own food, clearly having forgotten all thoughts of lunch. “Later?” he mouthed, reaching for her hand under the table.

She nodded before getting up. “Excuse me for a little bit,” she murmured, clapping a hand over her mouth and fleeing the room.

For a moment everyone was silent, too stunned to speak. “Should I get a doctor?” Ariadne finally asked.

“No, the rest of you just finish your meal,” Enjolras said, putting aside his cutlery and then following Eponine to where she was retching in one of the chamber pots in the nearby washroom. ‘ _So much for keeping breakfast down,’_ he thought as he rubbed her back.

Eponine coughed and wiped her mouth after a few moments. “I hate him. It’s bad enough that he does it under our friends’ roof, but in front of the children?”

“Might I remind you he is not the only one in that situation?” Enjolras pointed out. “Certainly, the lady encourages him.”

“Does your morbid curiosity extend even to _that?”_

“Only to establish motives, just like in any other case.”

Eponine cringed and shook her head before rinsing out the chamber pot. “You think Laure will ask again later about this?” she asked.

“You know how she remembers everything,” Enjolras pointed out, earning him a knowing eye roll. “You’d have better luck expecting rain in high summer.”


	13. A Woman Has Reasons Too

Following lunch, the youngsters either retreated upstairs or to the living room to amuse themselves away from the heat of the early afternoon, while Eponine and Enjolras returned to work in the study. ‘ _At least we get some quiet, finally,’_ Eponine told herself as she took a little time to open the letters they had received. She frowned as she read through the messages from England, detailing the trial of Lord Griffiths and Lord Blakeney. “I think it’s silly that lords can only be tried by lords there in England. All they’ll do is just cover for each other,” she griped.

Enjolras looked up momentarily from the notes he was writing. “What then of other citizens who are not in their peerage?”

“They go through the usual trial with the judge and all. I don’t see why someone who happens to own more land and a title should be given anything different,” Eponine said. Judging by the stories related to her by her friends, it did not seem as if the two erring lords would receive the full penalties that would normally be levied for attempted murders and conspiracies. ‘ _All because it was done for King and Country,’_ she thought sourly as she set the notes aside and then resumed work on a translation of compiled recipes from the north of England.

As she was jotting down her translation of an oddly specific list of herbs, she felt a tug on her skirt. “Yes, what is it, _petite_?” she asked, turning to look at Laure.

The blonde little girl looked down at her stocking feet, then back up at her mother. “Maman, what were Georges and Marie-Fantine _really_ talking about? You said you’d tell me!”

“Laure, that can wait a little longer, your mother will talk with you later,” Enjolras said more firmly, not looking up from his own work.

‘ _Knowing her, she’s not going to let up,’_ Eponine thought, looking down at her half-translated line then back at their daughter. “Why don’t you sit by there on the chaise for a little while, and I will finish this up, _petite_ ,” she suggested. She bit her lip as she heard Laure tiptoe off to the chaise and sit down with a huff; it was clear that the eight-year old would not leave until she got some semblance of answers.

After finishing a few more lines of translation, she set the pages out to dry before wiping her hands on a cloth. “What do you want to know about it, Laure?” she asked as she went to sit next to the child.

“What were they doing?” Laure chirped, swinging her feet. “Ladies and gentlemen don’t usually do that in the drawing rooms.”

“You’re correct about that,” Eponine said. “But sometimes when a lady and a gentleman like or love each other enough, they can kiss and hug each other that way---as long as they are in their own place or somewhere more private.”

Laure scratched her head. “Like a bedroom?”

“Yes, that’s a good place,” Eponine replied, smiling to herself even as a memory of a tryst in a vineyard suddenly came to mind. “And certainly, that should not be done where there are other people such as little ones who shouldn’t be watching!”

“I can only do that when I am bigger?”

“Yes, and with someone you do love and want to be with for the rest of your life.”

Laure nodded slowly. “Just like you and Papa?”

“Yes, that is a good example of it,” Eponine said with a smile. “Most of your aunts and uncles actually also are good examples, like your Aunt Azelma and Uncle Jehan, or even Aunt Cosette and Uncle Marius.”

Laure wrinkled her nose. “Does Neville get to do that with Ariadne?”

“I think they have to be a little older than they are now, _petite_.”

“Oh. Then why doesn’t Uncle Courfeyrac have a lady to kiss?”

“Now that is his own business,” Enjolras said, now setting down his work and looking their way. “Laure, these are not things you can just ask other people about because this is private, as your mother has just said. Are we clear about that?”

Laure nodded once again. “But what was so funny about that old man? Do Uncle Marius and Aunt Cosette know him?”

“Yes, but that isn’t something you should poke your nose in too,” Eponine advised.

“Why not?”

“I s’pose you’ll have to be a bit bigger so you can understand.”

Laure wriggled off the chaise and stood on tiptoe. “Now I’m bigger! Can you tell me?”

“Not _that_ sort of bigger,” Enjolras said quickly. “This is enough for now, so you can either read quietly there, or run along if you must play.”

“I’ll be very quiet, Papa!” Laure said in a stage whisper before beginning to rummage for a book, and then stealing out of the study after a few minutes.

Eponine breathed a sigh of relief as she heard the child scamper away from the study. “I s’pose that went well,” she whispered.

“I believe so,” Enjolras said as he touched her arm. “It is good that she didn’t get specific.”

“I don’t think the children would, not even Georges and Marie-Fantine,” Eponine pointed out. “But if she ever did, you’d have to deal with it. I don’t think I could.”

“Perish the thought,” Enjolras deadpanned, shaking his head. After a few minutes he set aside a page of notes and looked at her. “What time did the Pontmercys say they would be back?”

“About five or so. I s’pose now is as good a time as any to help Ariadne find her mother,” Eponine replied. She slipped her arms around Enjolras’ shoulders and rested her cheek against his. “Will you be fine with being here for a bit?”

“Yes. If you aren’t back by three, I’ll go to the Marche Saint-Germain for our supplies,” Enjolras agreed, taking her hands to kiss her knuckles. “I’ll see you later.”

Eponine nodded, taking a moment to bury her nose in his neck just to enjoy the feel of his body against hers. “You too, Antoine.” She reluctantly then left the study to pin up her hair more neatly, as well as fetch a hat and a pelisse.

When she walked back downstairs, she peered in the living room where she found Neville sitting by the window, striking a reflective pose while Ariadne sketched him. “I hate to interrupt, but I think it’s time we checked if your mother is home,” she said, addressing Ariadne.

Ariadne sighed as she set down her pencil. “A few more minutes please, Citizenness Enjolras? I’m almost done with sketching him,” she said in a whisper, holding up the large sheet of paper she had smoothed out on a tray turned upside down on her lap.

Eponine peeked at the sketch and could only nod at the fine hand that had produced it; Ariadne’s lines were smooth and clear, with none of the hurried scratching or grayish erasures so common with novice work. More importantly she had captured Neville’s visage in truth, from his keen hooded eye to that slight hook in his nose. “Have you studied drawing?” she asked.

“Only a little,” Ariadne said, blushing as she resumed her work. “I heard you draw too?”

“Occasionally, if I find a good enough subject,” Eponine replied.

“And do you ever sit for drawings or paintings?”

“Oh no. Who’d ever want to sketch _me_?”

Ariadne shrugged. “I could some time, maybe when I next---” she trailed off before blushing again. “If my mother doesn’t mind, you can come and sit for a moment. I can sketch you then make a pretty little miniature too for you to wear or have around. Or it could be for Citizen Enjolras to keep, if he so likes,” she added more steadily.

“We’ll see,” Eponine said, hanging back now to let Ariadne finish her work. ‘ _That is if her mother would approve of her being around Neville,’_ she could not help thinking.

After a few minutes, Ariadne stood up and handed the sketch to Neville, who blushed deeply. “It’s what I see, don’t tell me otherwise,” she said proudly.

“It is a trick of the light. Thank you Ariadne,” Neville muttered, bowing shyly to her before he picked up her shawl and his hat. “Will we go now?”

“Yes we must,” Eponine said, now feeling rather sorry for having ended this interlude. Within a few minutes they had departed the Rue Guisarde, and now headed to the area of the Luxembourg Gardens.

Ariadne immediately pointed Eponine and Neville to an old house located right on the Rue Vaugirard, directly overlooking the park. “We have rooms on the third floor,” the girl said. She shook her head as she looked to a window. “I don’t see her hanging the laundry out.”

Eponine frowned as they stepped in and found the house’s concierge dozing in a seat. As quickly as they could, they walked upstairs to a narrow hallway where the floorboards creaked. She hung back to let Ariadne knock on a door a few times, to no avail. “Let me try,” Eponine said, now stepping forward to knock more loudly. “Citizenness Wright! Dolores!” she called.

Suddenly the door opened and a bleary-eyed Dolores Wright looked out. “What’s going on?” she asked, her voice still thick with sleep as she gathered a shawl over her low-cut chemise.

“Mother, it’s me,” Ariadne said a little crossly. “You didn’t come in, so I had to try to get some help.”

“You worry too much, child. You know I would have been back by and by,” Dolores said, rubbing a pair of bruises on her neck. She paused and blinked at Eponine. “What are you doing here, Citizenness Enjolras?”

“I was the help your daughter looked for,” Eponine replied, indicating herself and Neville. “Don’t worry, I made sure that she had lunch.”

“Ah well thank you then. I think you can come in and get out of the heat,” Dolores said. “Not the young man, this place is practically a boudoir.”

Eponine glanced at Neville, who was blushing to the roots of his hair. “I’ll take it from here, Neville. You’d better run back to your father and your siblings,” she whispered to him in Occitan.

Neville looked around worriedly. “But what about Ariadne?”

“I think these are women’s matters,” Eponine said in an undertone, prompting the boy to retreat. She followed Ariadne into the apartment, which by no means could be called orderly. Gowns, petticoats, and shawls were heaped up on every available piece of furniture, and the floor was dusted with powder. ‘ _It doesn’t seem as if they cook or do much here besides sleep,’_ she realized as she pulled the sheer drapes to let some sun into the chamber and then found a stool.

Dolores sprawled languidly on a couch, kicking aside a gown that had been draped there. “Ariadne my dear, please put this place in order,” she said to the girl, who had her head bowed with embarrassment. The Englishwoman smiled at Eponine. “It’s a grand place, don’t you think?”

“I s’pose you’re doing well for yourself,” Eponine said, doffing her hat. “Ariadne said that you left for a party at around dinner time yesterday?”

“Oh that. It was only a dinner with a fancy old gentleman, a little too worn out for my tastes. I don’t think I should have him here again, or say yes if he invites me out once more,” Dolores drawled, waving her hand. “These men of fashion have so much flash, but not much else otherwise. Your friend Courfeyrac is the exception.”

“He’s more than a man of fashion, he’s a man of character.”

“I see. Is it really like this in Paris?”

“Paris has all kinds of men, both sensible and less sensible. But many of them will not take kindly to someone who leaves her daughter alone and panicked,” Eponine pointed out. “She was in quite a state.”

“I’ll have that taken care of soon,” Dolores said, sitting up. “All she needs is someone to keep her, in style of course.”

Eponine felt her stomach turn at such talk but she bit her lip. “You only need to ask, and I can help find a situation for you both---”

“A situation? You think I could do anything useful?” Dolores said scornfully. “You expect me to go into domestic service or become a cook or bookshop girl?”

‘ _As I once was,’_ Eponine thought, but she resorted to clenching her fist. “Someone has to pay the rent for this, Citizenness. I cannot imagine how you will do it by going to party after party.”

“Perhaps you could persuade Citizen Courfeyrac to lend me a few francs, as a friend?”

“I wouldn’t dare. Not when he has needs of his own, and Armand to send to school.”

“I heard he is of aristocratic descent. Perhaps I should ask him myself,” Dolores muttered, picking up a brush to run through her disheveled hair. She looked quizzically at Eponine. “That young man Neville is from a rich family too, I hear. And yet he is not living in style like the others.”

“He was raised to live sensibly and within his means,” Eponine replied proudly. “I am not saying this only because I brought him up, but because it is true that he will be a credit to himself and whatever field he applies himself to.”

“Will he inherit much?” Dolores asked. “But I heard he has many siblings?”

“Should that matter?”

“There will be much less for him, and then my girl as well.”

Eponine bit the inside of her cheek. “Even with a large family, he will be in good standing. Is that your only real objection to him?”

Dolores rolled her eyes. “What use is being rich if you do not live like a swell?” She leaned in closer to Eponine. “You might want to tell that father of his to let him have a larger allowance that he can use for going to parties and balls or looking fashionable.”

‘ _A good thing I sent Neville home,’_ Eponine seethed silently as she got to her feet. “If you need any help for yourself or Ariadne, please let me know. I do not mind having her with me all day; it is safer that way,” she said, looking Dolores over. She nodded to Ariadne, who was gathering up some shawls that had been tossed into a corner. “I hope to see you again soon,” she said as she donned her hat and then walked out onto the street.

By the time she returned to 9 Rue Guisarde, it was half past two in the afternoon. When she entered the house, she saw Jacques on the floor, showing the other children how to play marbles. Only Neville seemed to be anxiously pacing the living room. “How are they?” Neville asked, stopping in his tracks upon seeing Eponine.

“Ariadne is fine, but her mother is infuriating!” Eponine muttered before storming into the study. She tossed her hat and pelisse onto the chaise before sitting down next to where Enjolras was collating some pages of notes. “How was your afternoon, Antoine?”

“Better than yours, evidently,” Enjolras said, touching her hand. “What exactly transpired?”

“Dolores was out with a gentleman all evening; I know that is none of my business, but she could have made sure she at least left Ariadne some breakfast or at least some way not to be so frightened,” Eponine replied. “I’ve never met a woman so dissipated, all she seems intent on doing is living off some sensible man. Then she objects to Neville because of his prospects!”

“His prospects? He will be pursuing a degree and perhaps a prestigious academic career.”

“She didn’t give a fig about that, she only does not like that he does not run through a horrifically large allowance or live like some fop!”

Enjolras paled with utter disgust. “Have you told Neville this?”

“No, I haven’t the heart to, and I don’t think I can do it politely,” Eponine said. She started as Enjolras got to his feet. “Where are you going?”

“To the market, as we agreed,” Enjolras replied curtly. “You have much to finish, and I will manage this,” he added, kissing her forehead before he swiftly walked out of the room.

‘ _I probably shouldn’t have told him what Dolores said,’_ Eponine realized as she sprang out of her seat and ran after Enjolras, who was already at the gate. “Antoine, that woman was being a silly. You don’t have to heed it, maybe I shouldn’t have said what she was going on about,” she said breathlessly, grabbing him by his shoulders.

“I know that, Eponine. It’s fine,” Enjolras told her. He clasped her hands firmly and looked her in the eye. “I need some time to think about other matters, not only this.”

“Such as?”

“The notes on my desk. I’ll be fine.”

Eponine nodded before letting go of him and then walking back into the house. Inasmuch as she tried to focus on the recipe she was trying to translate, her mind was too much of a tempest for her to sit still. She glanced at the notes that Enjolras had been working on, but found them to be full of intricacies regarding Prussian laws, so much that she felt her head spin just from looking at them. ‘ _Maybe a little nap will clear my mind,’_ she thought as she lay on the chaise and closed her eyes. 

She did not remember falling asleep but when she opened her eyes she heard childish laughter and calls from outside. ‘ _What time is it already?’_ she wondered as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes and stepped out just in time to see Enjolras conversing with Marius, Cosette and Bossuet in the front hall. The four Pontmercy children were running about, making a clamor about being excited to go home. “How was your trip?” she greeted her friends.

“It went fantastically well,” Bossuet said with a grin as he hoisted young Jean Pontmercy onto his shoulders. “The new innovations on beadwork were very welcomed by the overseers and we should be seeing our own improved creations soon.”

Cosette’s eyes were dark as she looked at Eponine. “Enjolras told me that my children said something about your father to your children?” she asked worriedly.

“It wasn’t just about my father, it was about his grandaunt too,” Eponine said, indicating Marius. She bit her lip when she saw Cosette groan with disgust. “I’m so sorry on his behalf---”

“You don’t have to apologize for him, he’s old enough to know better and so is Aunt” Cosette pointed out decisively. “Marius my love, I think it’s time we had a good talk with your aunt and her suitor,” she added, nearly blanching at the last word.

Marius cringed. “Is this necessary?”

“Marius! They did it _again_ in front of the children!”

“Sweet Jesus save us. I thought my aunt would get the hint!”

“It seems as if we cannot wait for piety to have any sort of effect in this situation,” Enjolras said, crossing his arms. “Will you need any assistance?”

“If both of you can be spared for this evening? They normally are together up until dinner,” Cosette asked, not hiding her irritation. “It will take more than Marius and myself to reason with them,” she added more confidentially.

“What does Grandfather Gillenormand think?” Eponine asked.

“I daren’t tell him, he’d expire for the shame of it, and I’m not holding another funeral so soon after burying my father!” Cosette pointed out.

“Give us a moment,” Eponine said, quickly retreating to get her hat and her coat while Enjolras headed upstairs. Once attired, Eponine then went to where her own children were listening to Jacques and Neville tell a story. “Your Papa and I just have to make a visit with the Pontmercys. We’ll be back for a late dinner, and there’s still bread and cheese if you get hungry,” she instructed the youngsters.

Cosette shook her head as she touched Eponine’s elbow. “Dinner will be on me; it’s the only right thing to do,” she whispered to her friend. “It’s a meal you won’t have to cook.”

“Thank you Cosette,” Eponine said, now seeing Enjolras coming back downstairs with his cravat knotted simply and his coat buttoned all the way up. “You’re looking excessively formal,” she remarked as she went to straighten out his cuffs.

“For a discussion of this import, it is necessary,” Enjolras said, looking at her wryly.

In the meantime, Bossuet tipped his hat to the group before handing off Jean Pontmercy to Marius. “I will leave you to prepare for battle. Best of luck to you all.”

“Thank you so much for today, Bossuet,” Marius said gratefully to their colleague as they all headed out of the house, with the little Pontmercys in tow. They parted ways at the gate; Bossuet headed to his family’s lodgings near the Rue Ferou while the rest of the group headed to the Marais.

When they arrived at 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire, the windows were already lit and preparations were underway for dinner. Cosette let the children in first before she quickly took off her hat and her cape. “Nicolette, is Aunt still with her guest?” she asked the maidservant who greeted her.

Nicolette nodded. “She is in the drawing room with him, Madame Baronne.”

“Please tell her that Citizenness Enjolras and I will have tea with her in _my_ sitting room, right now. My husband and Citizen Enjolras will speak as well with her guest,” Cosette said primly, glancing to her companions.

Nicolette swallowed nervously. “What if Mademoiselle Gillenormand says ‘no’?”

“Tell her that I request that she speak with Madame Baronne,” Marius chimed in. “I know we are a Republic here, but sometimes my aunt won’t answer to anything but the old style,” he added as he took off his hat.

Eponine bit her lip as she also took off her hat and hung it on a hook. “Good luck, Antoine,” she said to Enjolras.

“We’ll need more than luck, so I will say keep your courage up,” Enjolras replied, touching her cheek. “I do not have doubts about that though.”

Eponine clasped his hand before following Cosette to a second floor sitting room, which had always been set aside for the private use of the lady of the house. This room, unlike many of those in the upper floors, was always kept fresh and cheerily decorated, with soft furnishings in light fabrics. “You think she will heed us?” she asked Cosette as they made themselves comfortable in a pair of plush armchairs.

“She has to,” Cosette said confidently over the sound of skirts swishing in time with angry footsteps approaching the sitting room door. “Good day, Aunt,” she greeted, putting her hands in her lap.

“What is the meaning of this, Cosette?” Celestine Gillenormand fumed as she stepped in. Her thick dress was buttoned up to her throat, and her long sleeves constricted her wrists severely, but even this prudish attire could not draw attention away from her swollen lips or the strands escaping her now loosened hairstyle. “Do I not have the right to receive guests too?”

“Yes you do, Aunt,” Cosette said amiably, nodding to Nicolette as she brought in some more tea on a tray. “But this is desperately urgent.”

Celestine Gillenormand sniffed as she looked at Eponine. “And what are you doing here?”

“It concerns me too, Citizenness,” Eponine said, raising her chin. Even now she could feel the spinster’s cool disdain in her gaze, something which had never changed in the past decade. “Rather, it concerns my own family.”

“I have a report from my own children that you were seen in a certain position with your guest, who is none other than my friend’s father,” Cosette said. “I should think nothing of it, Aunt, if it was not for the fact that my little ones saw it and told their friends.”

“Children will always tell stories,” Celestine Gillenormand said with a scowl. “How do you know this is true?”

“I believe my own children,” Cosette retorted. “I will not have them see such behavior; you know this is why my husband and I comport ourselves with all propriety possible. I know you may feel great affection for this man, but please act respectable!”

“My goodness Cosette, you sound so much like a nun, which I know you are not,” Celestine Gillenormand said, clucking her tongue. “In this day and age, you still insist on being so?”

“We may be forward but that’s not the same as being improper, Citizenness,” Eponine chimed in. “But if I may ask, _why_ my father?”

“You are happy, child, and shouldn’t I be?” Celestine Gillenormand said, her eyes narrowing behind her spectacles. “Or do you mean for me to spend all my life caring for my father?”

“I did not say such a thing,” Eponine shot back, clenching her fist. “You could be happy with _any_ other man, but why with someone who has been in prison twice?”

“Over mistakes that should be forgiven. And we should forgive as the Lord has forgiven our sins,” the spinster said, adjusting the collar of her dress. “He is a clever sort, someone who perhaps should have been a good soldier or clergyman if life had dealt him better turns.”

‘ _If he did not sink all his life into an inn,’_ Eponine thought, meeting Cosette’s irritated look. “How much of his story has he told you?” she asked.

Celestine Gillenormand sighed deeply. “I am willing to help him move forward, if that is what he so needs. You are his daughter, why will you not forgive him?”

“Because he ceased to regard me as such, years ago. Did he tell you that?”

“It is not too late for you to reconcile.”

“That would be at some later date, Aunt,” Cosette cut in. “But for now I must please ask you to comport yourself properly, especially when in the public rooms of this house.”

Celestine Gillenormand’s eyes widened. “Are you suggesting I bring him to my room?!”

“I didn’t say such a thing either, Aunt,” Cosette said, holding out her hands. She paused then groaned at the sounds of shouts from downstairs. “That is going as well as I expected.”

Eponine jumped out of her seat and rushed downstairs to the drawing room, only to be greeted by the sight of her father crouched on the floor, clutching at Marius’ coat while Enjolras was trying to urge him to get to his feet. “Goodness, what are you all doing?” she asked.

“Eponine my dear, aren’t you going to help your father?” Thenardier howled. “Look at what these brutes are up to, to throw me out into the night!”

“He’s disrespected my aunt enough,” Marius said, his nostrils flaring with anger as he looked from her to the groveling man an inch away from the tips of his boots. “Were it not for her sake I would have banned you from this house entirely before, but now I have no choice!”

Eponine looked from Marius to Enjolras. “Antoine, what happened?” she asked steadily.

“A few remarks which I will not repeat, not here,” Enjolras said, now grabbing Thenardier to pull him to his feet. “My friend has made it clear, you are not welcome.”

“What is the meaning of this!” Celestine Gillenormand cried, now flying from the doorway to her paramour’s side. “How cruel you are, to turn him out like this!”

“He is not welcome here, he poses a threat to my wife and my children,” Marius retorted. “Haven’t I told you so before, Aunt?”

“He is my guest and he poses no threat to me!” Celestine Gillenormand screeched. “Your grandfather will hear of this, he will!” she shouted as she left the drawing room, her skirts swishing in her wake.

‘ _Now he’s done it,’_ Eponine thought even as Marius hurried after his aunt, who was spewing recriminations despite all of Cosette’s pleas. “Are you happy now?” she asked Thenardier icily.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you had just been good to your Papa and let me stay with you,” Thenardier wheedled. “What else was I supposed to do?”

“A lodging house, a room elsewhere, any other solution other than paying false court to a woman with almost no family left?” Enjolras retorted acridly. He glanced up to the sounds of the argument rising in pitch upstairs. “Excuse us for a moment.”

Thenardier laughed as Enjolras left the room. “And you will not slap me, Madame Publique?” he jeered at his daughter.

Eponine shook her head even as she felt her fist clench. “And cause another scene? That’s what you want and I’m not giving that either!” she fumed before hurrying out after Enjolras and to the commotion on the second floor.


	14. One's Station, One's Lot

“Of course, your heading upstairs did make a scene. Then what happened?”

“The most delicate way to phrase it is that sides were taken, and a rift has occurred.”

Combeferre merely rolled his eyes at Enjolras’ laconic explanation. “Let me rephrase that; whose side did Pontmercy’s grandfather take last night?” he asked, pausing in the process of loading a brace of pistols.

“He sided with his grandson. Naturally, this only incensed his aunt further,” Enjolras replied. He frowned as he looked out on the abandoned quarry on the plain of Issy, a place that he and his friends seldomly revisited for target practice or sparring. Under the midmorning sun, the rock outcroppings surrounding them seemed less eerie and more like works of art. He picked up a pistol to give it a cursory inspection. “The conclusion is this: in the interest of keeping the peace and Citizen Gillenormand’s health, Eponine and I will have to refrain from calling on the Rue des Filles du Calvaire indefinitely, especially while Citizen Thenardier is visiting.”

Combeferre tutted as he set down his firearms. “A difficult situation, understandably. Marius and Cosette must be in a quandary. How is Eponine taking this?”

“She is angry with Citizen Thenardier, and that is all she is willing to say about it,” Enjolras said. There was no need to voice out what he knew was also weighing on Combeferre’s mind, namely the possible impact this had on Eponine’s health and that of the child she carried. Enjolras merely gritted his teeth as he aimed his gun at a row of bottles lined up some forty paces away. One bottle shattered with a satisfying report, spraying glass shards everywhere.

“Enjolras! Save some for us, won’t you?” Courfeyrac called from the rear of the quarry. In a few moments he made his appearance, dressed gaily for a day of shooting and sparring. With him was Charlesette, who was also attired sharply in a riding habit, this time made of thick blue cotton.

“I thought I wasn’t to be the only lady here!” Charlesette greeted breathlessly as she doffed her hat and wiped her brow. “Won’t Citizenness Enjolras join us?”

“She is finishing a few translations,” Enjolras said. “Will both of you be shooting?”

“We will,” Courfeyrac replied gamely. He indicated two canes he carried with him. “Do you feel up for some hand to hand practice as well?”

Enjolras nodded, prompting Courfeyrac to hand him a _canne_. ‘ _After everything that happened in Florence and Rome, it would be amiss to let this go by the wayside,’_ he decided as he quickly dropped into a fighting stance while Courfeyrac took off his own cravat and coat. Courfeyrac regarded Enjolras for a moment before suddenly springing forward. Enjolras swiftly sidestepped this first attack, and then spun to parry his friend’s next blows. For a few minutes the only sound in all the quarry was the cracking of one _canne_ on another as he and Courfeyrac sparred, each man trying to wear down the other. Suddenly he saw his opening when for a split second Courfeyrac glanced at Charlesette, who was watching with an awestruck look. It was all that Enjolras needed to bring his _canne_ up to Courfeyrac’s throat, stopping him short. “The duel is here by the way. Still, very well met,” he reminded his friend.

Courfeyrac reddened even as Charlesette and Combeferre slowly clapped. “That was quick,” he muttered, looking at Enjolras embarrassedly.

“Indeed,” Enjolras said dryly as he handed the _canne_ back to his friend. He sat back to watch as Combeferre and Charlesette began debating some fine point of artillery. After a while he saw Courfeyrac also sit on a nearby rock. “Does she know?” he asked his friend.

“Who?” Courfeyrac asked, looking startled.

“Does she know about Armand?” Enjolras asked more slowly.

The younger attorney reddened slightly. “I do not know how to bring that up.”

“With the same candor you always do,” Enjolras said dryly. “Plain and simple.”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “I cannot just tell her something that serious, not when we are just renewing our acquaintance. She didn’t even quite know that I’d dropped the particle, and there’s a _great_ deal I have to catch her up on. It will be too sudden!”

“You cannot keep her in the dark forever, especially about someone who has been your prime motivation for nine years now!”

“And what if she flees from me because of that?”

‘ _Then she isn’t worth this,’_ Enjolras thought but he bit back this thought as he looked at Courfeyrac seriously. “It would be deception to omit even a mention; the actual meeting can wait. How do you propose to carry on like this?”

“Carry on like how?” Charlesette’s voice chimed in. The two men looked to see her standing nearby with a puzzled look on her tanned face. “What is afoot with you two?”

“It’s only a small matter,” Courfeyrac said dismissively, getting up to clasp her hand. “Don’t worry yourself about it.”

Enjolras glared at Courfeyrac before also standing up. “She will find out someday. It would be better coming from you,” he said in a terse undertone as he gripped his shoulder.

“Or?”

“Should I tell her then about my godson?”

All color drained from Courfeyrac’s face for a moment before he pulled away from Enjolras’ grip. “You wouldn’t dare,” he hissed. He nodded to Charlesette, who was still picking from an assortment of guns that Combeferre had brought. “Are you going to take your turn to shoot?” he asked more loudly.

“Why so impatient, Maurice?” Charlesette asked, looking up from her scrutiny of an old Spanish pistol. “You need to take your turn too.”

Enjolras glared disbelievingly at the pair before catching Combeferre’s questioning look. “It’s not my story to tell,” he remarked in a level tone.

“You’re right that it isn’t,” Courfeyrac retorted before stepping beside Charlesette to adjust her grip on her chosen pistol. “Here, this is how you make sure you keep centered on the target.”

‘ _He’s going to lose her if he isn’t careful,’_ Enjolras thought grimly even as he now busied himself now with reloading his pistol. After about two hours, the day had grown too warm for them to continue their shooting practice, thus prompting them to return to the city proper. At the Barriere de Vaugirard they parted ways: Combeferre to join some colleagues for a presentation at the Necker Hospital, Courfeyrac and Charlesette to have lunch near the Invalides, and Enjolras to return to the Rue Guisarde.

Upon his arrival, Enjolras caught sight through the living room window of what seemed to be a gathering already underway. ‘ _Was the ladies’ society supposed to convene here today?’_ he wondered as he discreetly entered his home. As he took off his hat to hang it on a hook, he saw Eponine quickly entering the front hall. “My apologies for the interruption,” he greeted.

“Not if it’s you,” Eponine quipped. Her smile turned quizzical as she met his eyes. “You’re back rather early.”

“Unfortunately, this was not the best day for shooting,” Enjolras said blasely as he rolled up his sleeves. “You have a meeting right now?”

Eponine shrugged. “Planning an event, with the help of some of the ladies.”

“When is that scheduled?”

“A few weeks from now, you’ll see.”

“Very well then,” Enjolras said. “Where are the children?”

“Neville is out, and need I say with who? Jacques is visiting Grantaire and Nicholine to get some classic texts, while the little ones are napping upstairs after lunch,” Eponine replied. “Have you had lunch at all?”

“I believe that went by the wayside.”

“Then I’ll make something for you.”

“Aren’t you in a meeting?” Enjolras asked, but Eponine was already walking to the kitchen. He followed her to where she was getting two eggs, a bit of cheese, and a handful of herbs from their larder, as well as some cold chicken left over from lunch. “Won’t you be missed?”

“They’ll be leaving in a few minutes; they were already picking up their shawls,” Eponine said, glancing to where the sounds of conversation were now fading out till at last the front door shut. She cracked the eggs into a bowl and beat in the herbs, and then lit up the stove. She poured a little oil into a pan and waited a few moments before pouring in the eggs and letting them cook a little before she added in the meat and the cheese.

Enjolras could not help but watch Eponine, even as she was engrossed with her cooking. Her languid command of this kitchen, a room of many memories for them, was enough to keep him entranced. “Does this arise from any particular occasion?” he asked.

Eponine shook her head as she folded the omelet over to let it cook a little more till it turned golden brown. “I don’t get to do this often just for you anymore. Almost everything we cook here always is for the children and we just have to go along with it,” she explained as she put the omelet on the kitchen table and then took a seat.

“That is true,” Enjolras said before getting some cutlery and finding a chair of his own. He took a few bites, relishing for a brief moment the perfect blend of mild cheese and delicately flavored chicken on his tongue. “You were right about Courfeyrac. He has not informed Citizenness Karolyn about Armand’s existence yet,” he said at length.

“Both of them joined you and Combeferre at the quarry?” Eponine asked.

“Yes. As I said I would speak with Courfeyrac about it.” Enjolras paused to take another bite of food. “It did not go well.”

Eponine sighed deeply. “I s’pose you said he had to have it out right away with her?”

Enjolras nodded. “Is there any other way to go about it?”

“It has to be soon, but not this very day maybe. I mean this is not something you tell until you’re sure that the timing is good and proper for news of that sort!”

“Is there ever a proper time for these things?”

She paused before shaking her head. “Maybe it’s just the _least_ awkward time you’re looking for.” She bit her lip as she took his hands, running her fingers over the calluses here. “I know you feel strongly about this because Armand is your godson, but there’s not much you can do except hope that Courfeyrac will do the right thing.”

“The right thing at the right time,” he amended, catching her right index finger with his left.

“Which might not be _your_ time,” Eponine pointed out. “And I s’pose that is why you all left the shooting practice early?”

“Yes, but we would have had to cut it short at some point since Combeferre had an appointment at the Necker, and most of the artillery was his anyway,” Enjolras said. He looked keenly at Eponine, seeing how her smile still remained wry and did not quite reach her eyes. “Is something on your mind?”

Eponine bit her lip. “You never quite said what was on your mind yesterday, when you just walked out to go to the Marche Saint-Germain after I was telling you about Citizenness Wright and her foolishness.” She took a deep breath as she moved her seat closer to his. “I didn’t think you’d feel stung about such a thing.”

“It was many things,” he said. ‘ _What that Englishwoman said was only the last straw,’_ he reminded himself. In truth he already had much on his mind prior to Eponine’s return from walking Ariadne home, and the trip to the market had been necessary for him to clear his mind at least for a short while. “I am sure you saw my notes.”

“Which I cannot make sense of; I never thought I’d encounter anything more convoluted than the English until I read of the _Prussians_ ,” she remarked, not hiding her distaste. “Is it so necessary for France to deal with that kingdom?”

“Yes, to maintain good ties with the rest of the German Confederation, and that is only one among several other possible benefits, ” Enjolras explained more easily. Somehow explaining this matter to Eponine made it seem much simpler than when he sketched it out on paper. He could not help but smile when Eponine nodded by way of understanding. “Eventually I will also have to review similar documents from England, Spain, Austria, and even the different states of the Italian peninsula, assuming they haven’t become a single Italy by the time this primer is drafted.”

Eponine chuckled slightly. “It could happen, after that amazing turn of events a few weeks ago. You’d like that.” Her mien grew serious again as she eyed him. “That’s one thing. What about the rest of it?”

“You mean that situation with Citizenness Wright?”

“Yes. It’s not often I see you so unnerved, especially over what people say.”

‘ _It’s more than what people say, it’s what they do about it,’_ Enjolras thought as he took a deep breath. “It’s one thing when your father makes spiteful accusations about us, but a completely different matter when it touches on one or more of the children’s personal lives.”

“Neville’s then,” Eponine said. “What do you think of it? I mean I wouldn’t _know_ , Antoine. When I was his age I was trying to stay in a job, pay rent, keep the boys fed, and help you with that campaign for the legislature. That’s not exactly very close to what Neville’s growing up is like; it’s a bit more like yours.”

“I grew up an only child with cousins, by the way.”

“Yes but you went to university and made friends with other rich boys like Courfeyrac and Jehan, or boys who lived like they are rich like Bahorel and Bossuet. How did you ever manage?”

Enjolras took a deep breath as he thought back on more distant years, of the first time he had set foot in Paris and found himself overwhelmed by the fast pace of life and leisure among his fellow university students. “I was not overly impressed by most of the amusements and distractions; I would tolerate them for my friends but not actively seek them out for myself,” he said after a few moments. “Books made cold but true companions.”

“That, and planning for a Republic,” Eponine added. “Books and dreams. Not entirely bad, if one isn’t aiming to woo or be wooed.”

“Which is the opposite of what Neville wants.”

“Ah, then you are saying he is not like you?”

Enjolras simply nodded. “To be frank I would not…understand what would compel him to reach such excesses in the pursuit of a girl who would like him even if he was not well off.”

“It isn’t Ariadne that is the problem, it is her mother,” Eponine reminded him. “I was worried that you thought that she believed we were too poor to have Neville live in style.”

“I _know_ she thinks that way,” Enjolras said, looking at his wife keenly. “I would only be so inclined to give Neville a larger allowance if he asks for it specifically, but it would require some adjustment of our expenses to accommodate it. At this time, it would be impractical.”

“I thought so,” Eponine murmured, looking down and biting her lip. “Maybe it won’t be possible right away, but we can try to make something for him. We can do it together, with your writing and cases , and what I make on my translations too. I can do more writing to help.”

“We shall see,” Enjolras agreed, now taking Eponine’s hand to kiss it. He felt her relax as she took a deep breath and then clasped both his hands. It was the impetus he needed to kiss her brow and then move his lips down to her temples, then the tip of her nose, before finally catching her mouth in a kiss she eagerly returned. “Upstairs?” he asked hoarsely.

Eponine smiled as she began to undo the knot of his cravat. “Yes please.”


	15. Of Englishwomen

Inasmuch as Eponine cherished having a houseful of children, it still was a relief to have almost all of them be off at school for most of the day. ‘ _With any luck I should be able to finish this translation by today,’_ she thought on the morning of August 31 as she sat down at her translating desk, while Etienne played with some of his toys in one corner of the study. She bit her lip as she opened the book in front of her, which was a rare old volume titled “The Lamentation of a Sinner”; as puzzling and aggravating as the content of this text was, it was intriguing only because of its author. “If someone who was Queen of England could write this almost three hundred years ago, I don’t know why the Queen now doesn’t make her views so public,” she whispered to herself as she picked up a pen to begin writing down her translation of its last segment.

Just as she was finishing a particularly tricky paragraph, she heard a light knock on the front door. “That could only be one person,” she told herself while she glanced at Etienne, who was still occupied with scribbling on scrap paper, and then got up to admit this unexpected visitor. “Cosette! Were you on your way to the children’s refuge?” she greeted.

“No, actually, I came all the way here to call on you,” Cosette admitted, dusting off her pink morning dress. “I hope I didn’t catch you at a bad time?”

“Not at all; I was almost done with this week’s work,” Eponine said, ushering her friend into the study. She hung back to let Etienne greet Cosette before showing her friend to a seat and then picking up the book. “Have you or Marius ever heard of Catherine Parr?”

Cosette paused while untying her bonnet. “That’s an English queen, if I remember correctly.”

“The sixth wife of that king Henry the 8th, but she actually was quite a bit more than what a lot of people like to remember of her,” Eponine said excitedly as she held out the book for Cosette’s inspection. “She actually wrote this, and I suspect more books. I didn’t think that English queens could do such a thing.”

Cosette smiled bemusedly as she looked over the old book. “Why wouldn’t she? Is there such a rule against English queens publishing?”

“I don’t think so, but I know that their current Queen doesn’t write, or at least not yet,” Eponine remarked. She could not help but smile wryly at the recollection of her short meeting with Queen Victoria in a discreet hotel drawing room just weeks ago. ‘ _Maybe if she wasn’t actually queen she would be quite a writer too,’_ she mused.

Cosette handed the volume back to Eponine after a few moments. “Where do you get these things to translate anyhow?”

“Usually from embassies or people who do business with them. I keep track of them all so I know who asked for what book or paper, especially if they are regulars,” Eponine explained, indicating a small drawer where she kept a small stack of cards. She set down the book lightly on her desk and patted its leather cover. “This one came from the grandmother of one of the attaches at the English consulate. I guess she wanted something else to think of during her prayers.”

Cosette nodded before letting out a deep sigh. “At least you’ve been enjoying yourself. I’m at my wits’ end about Marius.”

“Why, what about him?”

“I had hoped that the days would ease that rift with him and Aunt Gillenormand, but it’s only gotten worse,” Cosette said miserably. “They aren’t speaking to each other, still, but he’s more upset than he cares to let on. I hear him muttering about it at night, like he’s trying to figure out some way to mend it, but we all know it isn’t _that_ simple.”

Eponine winced, imagining what scenes Cosette must have endured over the past few days since that ill-fated confrontation that she and Enjolras had been party to. “Maybe his grandfather might be able to help?”

“I don’t want to get him involved; it was ugly enough when Aunt accused him of having always favored Marius’ mother even if she’d run off with a man he didn’t approve of.” Cosette wrung her hands for a moment. “At the same time, I know that Aunt deserves to finally find someone who can make her happy, someone close to her age at least. I don’t know how to deal with her without ruining her happiness.”

“Well we might have to go all the way back to the beginning. Did she ever tell you how she and my father met?”

“She said she met him at Saint-Sulpice. I didn’t know he liked to hear Mass there.”

Eponine snorted. “I didn’t know he even heard Mass at all; he never went back when we were in Montfermeil, and when he’d go to church here in Paris it was not for the communion.”

“Aunt thinks she can convert him to that way of believing,” Cosette pointed out. “I could never be that sort of saint.”

“I am not sure foolishness is mandatory for canonization, Cosette.”

Cosette chuckled and shook her head. “I know this is not nice of me, but I need to think of a way for her to fall out of love with him. Aunt says she knows everything about his past.”

Eponine bit her lip in an attempt to hold back a giggle, but only ended up snorting once more before nearly doubling over with laughter. “Everything? Does she know about my mother?”

“Yes, he introduced himself as a widower.”

“I was born not even nine months after their wedding.”

“He said he was there to save your mother’s honor.”

“Oh, what about traveling at the back of the convoy to Waterloo, just to pick the watches and rings off the dead?”

“Yes, she knows about that, and the aliases he took while here in Paris,” Cosette said with frustration. “And your father told her that he and your mother took me in ‘out of charity’ while my mother went off to work in the country.”

“Did you ever set the record straight?”

“She contends that I would have died in the country if not for your parents’ kindness.”

Eponine grimaced and shook her head. “If you’d stayed longer with us, you wouldn’t have lived to see another Christmas.”

Cosette nodded grimly. “I might have to mention that specifically to Aunt. If she wants your father to be…around our home more often, I’d have to make sure he does not get to _my_ children. And she’d be barred too, as a matter of course.”

“I thought she wasn’t fond of children?”

“She’s fine with them only when they are quiet or praying.”

Eponine rolled her eyes, already imagining Celestine Gillenormand telling off any number of the Pontmercy children during daily prayers. “I can only imagine how she’ll take that.”

“I’d have to make myself strong for it,” Cosette whispered more bravely. She smiled more widely as she smoothed out her dress. “Let’s not talk of that. We have that testimonial dinner to plan for next month! Does Enjolras know about it?”

“If he does, he did not hear it from me. We did agree it’s to be a surprise, at least for him since it will be on his birthday,” Eponine said conspiratorially. ‘ _Though he might have figured out that something is afoot since there was that meeting here last week with the wives and sisters of some of the Palais de Justice lawyers,’_ she realized, remembering now what else had transpired that afternoon. “Usually we just have a nice dinner for him each year here at home, but he’s surely going to wonder when I insist we get dressed to go out.”

“He might figure it out when some of the other lawyers congratulate him on the award he is to receive that evening,” Cosette pointed out. “Marius and I agree that some of his colleagues are terrible at keeping _social_ secrets.”

“You mean secrets that they are not paid to keep?”

“Actually, yes.”

“When Antoine does find out, and he _will_ , I am sure he’s going to insist on refusing to accept that award,” Eponine mused aloud. “I know why he would do it; he hates being put in the public eye for praises, but is it wrong or vain for me to wish that people would recognize more of the good things he does?”

“You love him, and you have always been proud of him, it’s perfectly natural,” Cosette reassured her. “I think he would say the same for you too.”

Eponine smiled to herself even as she now heard a carriage pulling up to the gate. ‘ _Who could that be?’_ she wondered as she went out to take a look, more so when she saw through the window that this conveyance was little more than an old fiacre. She quickly ran to catch up with Etienne, who was halfway to the door, and scooped him up before he could step outside. “Now we’re doing this together, _petit_ , before you run out the gate!” she chided amid the boy’s protests. She slung him on her hip as she stepped into the yard, just in time to see a plump brunette figure alight from the coach. “Mrs. Williamson!”

“I am glad I was able to catch you here at home, Mrs. Enjolras,” Julia Williamson greeted happily. She was dressed simply, as if for morning calls or errands, save for the brash pink cockade in her bonnet. “And this must be your little boy!” she gushed on seeing Etienne.

“My youngest son, Etienne,” Eponine said, laughing when the toddler buried his face in her shoulder. “Tienne, she’s a very nice lady, and Maman’s friend.”

Etienne looked at Julia before waving shyly. “She smells nice,” he whispered.

“You little charmer!” Julia giggled. “You’re positively blooming too, Mrs. Enjolras. Might I even say, glowing.”

‘ _Little do you know,’_ Eponine thought as she motioned for Julia to follow her into the study. “Cosette, here is a surprise from England, a friend named Mrs. Williamson. Mrs. Williamson, meet my dear friend Citizenness Pontmercy,” she said by way of introduction.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, finally. Eponine wrote about how kind you were during her stay in London,” Cosette said amiably in perfect English. “My husband is also proficient with the English language, and I picked it up as did my two oldest children,” she added on seeing the newcomer’s surprised expression.

“That is a relief, for my French is atrocious!” Julia replied shamefacedly as she took a seat. “Paris is so changed from when I was last here. I almost did not recognize it!”

‘ _My younger self would not recognize it too,’_ Eponine reflected as she bounced Etienne on her lap. “Did you just arrive here in Paris? Are you with Mr. Williamson?”

“We arrived last night; the train had some delays from Calais. Mr. Williamson is here on business to expand from Manchester while I am here for socials,” Julia said pertly. “Finally the Season is done and I can get away from the worst of it!”

“Considering that it ended with trials in the House of Lords, I am not surprised,” Eponine pointed out dryly, setting Etienne down to run on the floor. “I heard about it in some letters, but how was it really like?”

“It was the ugliest business; we all know Lord Griffiths to be an unpleasant man and he was just that on the stand,” Julia said. “Lord Blakeney though, I felt sorriest for. He really thought he was doing something good, he said, but only got on the wrong end of matters.”

Eponine snorted with disbelief. “He can make the lords believe that. Are the Calamys speaking to him?”

“They are, but it’s not going to be the same,” Julia said. “Richard, that is my husband, is furious and thinks he should never have been involved,” she added, explaining for Cosette’s benefit.

‘ _It’s probably just as well the Williamsons never seemed interested in espionage,’_ Eponine decided silently. “After you and Mr. Williamson being so gracious to us while we were in London, I should return the favor. You two should join us for dinner, and the Pontmercys too,” she suggested.

“I should like that, and you can tell me more about your trip to Italy,” Julia agreed. “If you are free some time, you should join me shopping and point me to the best milliners and ateliers!”

“You need a new dress for the testimonial dinner,” Cosette pointed out. “If not, something lovely to go with that beautiful green silk you love to wear.”

“The public lawyers of Paris throw a testimonial dinner each year to honor their colleagues. All public and private lawyers are invited, as well as their families,” Eponine explained. “This year, the honor goes to my husband and it will also be on his birthday.”

“That sounds like a wonderful party. Yes, Mrs. Pontmercy is right, you should dress up for that!” Julia insisted. “Will you be there too?”

“I have to be; my own husband will be among those making toasts to her husband,” Cosette said. “We all go back a long way.”

“Then you should join us too, and we will make a day out of it,” Julia decided. She reached into a fold of her dress and brought out two visiting cards, on which she scrawled an address in pencil. “Do send your cards here when you name the dates for our dinner and our shopping excursion. Mr. Williamson’s negotiations are lengthy, and we will be in Paris for a while,” she said as she handed the cards to Eponine and Cosette.

‘ _I wonder if this custom will catch on here in France,’_ Eponine thought as she nodded. “You may send a note here, if you have a day you wish to name as well.” After Cosette and Julia exchanged addresses and some more pleasantries, the Englishwoman took her leave. “What do you think of her?” Eponine asked Cosette after a few minutes. 

“She’s not at all cold, contrary to what they say about the English,” Cosette said with a grin.

“The English do say that we French are either wild brutes or snobs with noses too long for our own good.”

“Touche.”

Eponine could only laugh, which soon had Cosette joining in as well. ‘ _This is why neither of us could ever be diplomats,’_ she thought bemusedly after Cosette also headed out after a few minutes. She sat back at her desk and opened once again the book she had been translating. “Maybe I should ask Mrs. Williamson what she thinks of this,” she said aloud as she picked up her pen anew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is a homage to "Six".


	16. Precedents and Impediments

It was more than a relief for Enjolras when he finally finished the materials he had on Prussia and the other kingdoms of the German Confederation, thus allowing him to start research on the other states. ‘ _Russia first if only for its scale, then on to the Mediterranean and the Ottomans next,’_ he thought as he opened up a folio that had been sent from Saint Petersburg and forwarded to the Home Office. Just as he was halfway through making notes on the first page that had been translated from Russian, he heard a knock on the door. “It’s unlocked,” he called nonchalantly.

“Enjolras, do you have a moment?” Feuilly asked as he stepped into the office. He put both hands on his friend’s desk. “I need your opinion on a legal matter.”

“Name it.”

“One of our attaches recently returned from Algeria has a daughter who was married to a local of that place. They now want the marriage recognized here in France.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he set aside his pen. “That is a matter of reciprocity. If Algeria is recognized by France as an equal state instead of a protectorate---which it is if I recall correctly---then what is already recognized as legally binding in Algeria may also be recognized as binding in France or any other state of similar footing.”

“Yes, which falls right in the part of the primer I am writing,” Feuilly said, rolling his eyes exasperatedly. “Is there a precedent for this situation?”

“You’d better ask Courfeyrac if he has one on hand about marriage contracted between two nationals; he has handled more cases concerning wedlock and estates.”

“Such as mine.”

Enjolras looked down for a moment, remembering now some of the reasons why Feuilly rarely spoke to or about his own wife Leonor. “Yet you two travelled with your daughter Sophie just earlier this year?”

“Leonor will always be the lady of my office or embassy for as long as I am connected with the diplomatic corps and travelling within official capacity. But while we are within France our conjugal arrangements are somewhat more separate, and that includes our personal assets,” Feuilly explained. “It is better than a legal separation or annulment, since both situations would pose a difficulty with raising our girl.”

“I see,” Enjolras said sympathetically. “Is this case the only part of your chapter that you have a concern with now?”

“Actually the case is a personal favor from a colleague, but yes I will keep this in mind on my chapter on reciprocity,” Feuilly said with a more relieved smile. “Courfeyrac is actually here now, and not courting?”

“He should be in his office; he had a hearing this morning,” Enjolras said. ‘ _Though his being at work does not hinder him from having Citizenness Karolyn visit here instead of at his apartment,’_ he thought with some distaste; as far as he knew his friend had yet to make Armand’s existence known to the Gascon heiress. As he resumed his work, he heard what sounded like an argument ensuing from the general direction of Courfeyrac’s office. He quickly set his papers aside and peered out to investigate, only to see none other than Dolores Wright storming down the corridor.

“There you are Citizen Enjolras! Just the sensible man I wanted to see!” the matron fumed. “The nerve of that friend of yours, Foo-something that sounds like a flower! Telling me that I had to leave Citizen Courfeyrac’s office!”

“They have confidential matters to discuss,” Enjolras deadpanned, taking care to step out into the hall and close his office door behind him. “This is not the building for social calls, Citizenness,” he added more seriously.

“Ah yes, business. And I have a serious matter to speak with you about,” Dolores pouted in heavily accented French. “I do not think your wife likes me very much.”

“If you have a quarrel with her, then you may remedy it between yourselves.”

“She is such an odd one. I thought we’d agree since she looks like the sort of woman who knows how to be practical even with choosing gentlemen. She was so _offended_ when I suggested to her that you ought to increase your boy’s allowance so he can look like a fashionable gentleman. It is so embarrassing for my girl to be seen with someone who dresses like a pauper!”

Enjolras glared at Dolores for a long moment, prompting the woman to step back and swallow hard. “Rest assured that such comments will not help your cause any further,” he said slowly, watching Dolores pale with each word. “I must ask you to leave, Citizenness.”

Dolores was still pale as she straightened up and wiped her face. “Why, it was only a suggestion!” she mumbled before retreating down the hall.

Enjolras waited for Dolores to be fully out of sight as well as earshot before he turned to where Courfeyrac and Feuilly were watching with astounded expressions. “Perhaps you should put it in writing, endorsed to the doormen and building custodians, that Citizenness Wright is now barred from your office,” he said sternly.

“I shall. You know what she came to me about today?” Courfeyrac said, now red in the face and flustered. “She was asking me if I’d been married before, and I said I had never been. Then she said that since she had never been married before either, she was now considering wearing white to _our_ wedding!”

Enjolras’ jaw dropped as Feuilly burst out laughing uncontrollably. “Did you broach that matter at all to her, either in jest or in earnest?”

“Not a word,” Courfeyrac said with dismay. “Besides why would _I_ be a suitable candidate at all for matrimony?”

“To Citizenness Karolyn you may be,” Feuilly sniggered, recovering somewhat.

Courfeyrac gave Feuilly a withering look. “I doubt that marriage is on _her_ mind, even if we greatly enjoy each other’s company.”

“You’ll never know till you make a mention to her, just make sure that Citizenness Wright is miles away, preferably across the Channel!”

“I don’t think I can wait for such a time.”

‘ _And if she leaves, she will likely take her daughter with her,’_ Enjolras mused, remembering now Neville’s own predicament. “Whatever you choose, your first order of business should be clarifying matters between you and Citizenness Wright,” he told Courfeyrac. “The last thing you want is her laboring under a delusion that you mean to wed her.”

Feuilly shook his head. “A woman like that is not put off by a simple word; she’s probably faced rejection time and again and she will not gainsay another. You will need to find something that she cannot surpass, like a legal impediment.”

“A court case or a conviction in fact, if these facts can be ascertained from court records,” Enjolras mused aloud. “Another possibility is that she may have had some precontract that would be binding at least in the eyes of the Church of England, even if it would not stand civilly here.”

“But it would prevent a marriage from being celebrated in a church, which might put her off,” Courfeyrac said more hopefully. “But what if she intends simply for a civil proceeding?”

“I am sure we can still find some obstacle no matter how trivial,” Feuilly said. “I can write to Ambassador Delaroche and ask him to help us conduct some investigation on Citizenness Wright, and her daughter as well.”

“That would be wise,” Enjolras concurred. For a moment he thought of discreetly writing to the friends that he and Eponine had in London, but he quickly dismissed the thought; it was not likely that Admiral Peter Calamy and his wife Victoria moved in the same circles as the Wrights once had in England.

The rest of the day passed without much incident, and by five-thirty in the afternoon Enjolras was already on his way home. When he arrived at 9 Rue Guisarde he was just in time to see Eponine heading out the gate, with a basket in hand. “Going to the Marche Saint-Germain?” he asked her by way of greeting.

“I’m out of herbs again,” Eponine said. She touched his wrist even as she bit her lip. “Could you have a word with Neville? He came back from the university today looking like something terrible happened.”

“Did he get into another fight?”

“No, but whatever it was, he wouldn’t talk about it. Maybe you can try.”

Enjolras nodded before kissing Eponine’s forehead. “I’ll see you later,” he said before stepping aside to let her pass. Almost as soon as he stepped into the house, he was mobbed by Laure, Julien, and Etienne. “Now how have you three been?” he greeted, hoisting Julien up so that the boy could divest him of his hat.

“Very good!” Laure said, hopping impatiently. “I was the _best_ at school today!”

“It was just a recitation,” Jacques drawled from the living room. “Ow Neville, stop that!”

“What is this about, gentlemen?” Enjolras called as he set Julien down and then walked into the next room. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of Jacques about to lob a spit-covered paper ball at his older brother, who was sitting despondently at the window. “Enough of this. What happened?”

Neville sighed deeply. “Get out Jacques. I need to talk to Father.”

“It’s about that _girl_ again,” Jacques said, sticking out his tongue. “Adriane and Neville sitting in a---”

“Jacques, enough. Or shall we have a repeat of previous discussions?” Enjolras asked, eyeing the younger boy sternly. ‘ _He knows I haven’t forgotten what happened in Spain,’_ he thought as he watched Jacques stalk out of the room. He took a seat across the room from Neville’s as he waited for the boy to compose himself. “What is this about?”

“I was supposed to meet Ariadne, I mean Citizenness Wright, after school today. But her mother was there and told me that she meant to take her to a party and that I was not fancy enough to join them,” Neville said before burying his face in his hands. “She’ll be dancing with rich men who can wine and dine her. What am I to that?”

“A good and honest young man. A woman of good sense will not be so easily dazzled by a single night of riches and glamor,” Enjolras answered. 

“What if she is?”

“Then you know what to do.”

Neville shook his head. “Ariadne’s mother would not treat me like the dirt at the bottom of her shoe if she saw that I had a little to spend on her daughter.” He took a breath through clenched teeth. “Maybe if I had a little work, I could---”

“Neville, we agreed you’d finish your degree first.”

“I could do both at once!”

‘ _As Pontmercy did all those years ago,’_ Enjolras thought, remembering vaguely now a conversation with Courfeyrac that had highlighted this fact. “It will take up a great deal of your spare time, which you might actually need to study and fulfill your requirements,” he reminded Neville. “Are you certain as to what you are asking?”

Neville hung his head. “How many hours a day?”

“That would depend on the nature of the work you undertake,” Enjolras pointed out. “Transcription and copying out manuscripts would take two to three hours a day, more if the job is urgently required. There are other options such as tutoring younger students or starting some small enterprise; the latter will require more time and resources.”

“I should think about it more then. I don’t know how Ponine managed to work at translations all day while going to political meetings at night and taking care of us boys,” Neville said with a frown.

“That situation is hardly comparable to university, but it may require the same gumption to succeed,” Enjolras said, clasping Neville’s shoulder. Seeing that the youngster was more relaxed he went to set his belongings aside in the study. As he did so he noticed an unusual book resting atop of Eponine’s desk in a corner. ‘ _A book by a queen of England. How did that get here?’_ he wondered silently as he took off his coat.

Before he could hang his coat on a chair, he heard a scream from outside. “Papa, there’s a bleeding man!” Julien shouted.

Enjolras raced to the gate, where he saw LeClerc standing there with a hand pressed to his chest. “Help!” the diplomat gasped before slumping to the ground in a dead faint.


	17. A Warning in All Tongues

In truth it wasn’t just a paucity of herbs that had Eponine hurrying to the market; as soon as she arrived at the Marche Saint-Germain she remembered that she also had run out of vinegar and oil, which she had intended to use for the evening meal. “The sooner I get paid for the translation of that book, the sooner I can stop worrying about having enough francs for market,” she muttered to herself as she counted out some coins into her hand before handing them over in exchange for a pair of small bottles. “I’d get more but I don’t have enough for that right now,” she said sheepishly to the shopkeeper.

“There is nothing wrong with buying what you need; your credit is always good with me, Citizenness Enjolras,” the elderly woman said amiably.

‘ _I don’t want to start that sort of thing,’_ Eponine thought as she put the bottles in her basket, taking care not to crush the bundle of herbs lying there. “Maybe next time, Citizenness Mesny. In a week,” she said. ‘ _By that time I should get paid for the book and other small things, and Antoine should already receive his fees for his cases,’_ she reassured herself.

As she walked away from the market Eponine could not help but glance towards the Church of Saint-Sulpice, from where soon the bells would toll the hour for Vespers. ‘ _Laure will have her First Communion there this year, just as Jacques and Neville did years ago,’_ she mused. The image of her daughter in a white dress and blue sash was heartening to the mother, at least till she remembered the fact that she would probably have to spend a considerable deal of time getting any assortment of stains out of the garment once that solemn day was done. “Maybe now that she is a bit older she will be a little more lady-like,” she muttered as she made the turn into the Rue Guisarde.

From the street corner she had a view of the street until its termination at the Rue des Cornelles. She saw a figure coming from this direction, stumbling and tottering every few paces as if he was hiding a grievous injury. Eponine felt a pit grow in her stomach as she saw this stranger suddenly stop at Number 9, nearly throwing himself on the gate as a child screamed from within the yard. She ran quickly to the house just in time to see Enjolras catch this unfortunate before he could fall to the ground. “What happened?” she asked frantically.

“It’s Citizen LeClerc,” Enjolras said quickly. “Please bring him inside while I fetch Joly.”

Eponine nodded wordlessly as she handed her basket to Laure before helping the diplomat up by his injured side. “He’s passed out. Neville, you get the other side and Jacques can carry him in by his legs,” she said, directing the two boys who had stood by, dumbfounded. She sighed with relief as she saw Laure grab Etienne to keep him from getting underfoot while Julien raced ahead to keep the door open. It took a few minutes for them to get LeClerc safely lying on the living room couch, during which the man had begun to regain consciousness and moan with pain. “Make sure he stays awake,” she said, leaving her brothers to remove LeClerc’s boots while she raced to get some cold water and cloths to help staunch the bleeding. Before leaving she filled a pot with water and set it on the stove to boil.

By the time she returned, LeClerc had already opened his eyes and was cursing vociferously as he looked at his now ruined clothes. “It was a mugger!” he gasped when he saw Eponine. “Out on the Rue des Cornelles!”

“It must be someone getting out of place then, there aren’t any gangs on this side of Saint-Sulpice,” Eponine remarked, furrowing her brow at this bit of news. With her brothers’ help she was able to help LeClerc remove his coat, waistcoat, and shirt to expose the stab wound on his left shoulder. “I don’t think it is too deep, otherwise you’d be in a worse way,” she observed as she began putting pressure on the injury.

“Let us hope that is indeed the case,” Joly said by of greeting as he and Enjolras entered the living room. “Did you hit your head during the attack, LeClerc?” he asked the injured man.

LeClerc shook his head as he lay back to let Joly proceed with his physical examination. “I tried to keep my head in order, but I was sure my feet would give out after,” he said, wincing as the physician began taking his pulse. “Though I’d meant to come here anyway, just less bloodied.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “You meant to visit?”

“I had some documents; I hope I didn’t drop them,” LeClerc said more easily. “Could you check my coat?”

Eponine quickly rummaged through the coat, which was by her knees, and found several folded papers tucked in an inside pocket. “Thank goodness these don’t have blood on them. Where are they from?” she asked as she handed them to Enjolras.

“Germany,” Enjolras pronounced upon unfolding the first paper. “Were these from the embassy or from the border?”

“A national who presented himself to the consulate,” LeClerc whispered even as Joly finished his examination. “Is it bad?”

“I will have to suture and then bandage this wound; you are lucky that whatever it is that stabbed you did not hit an artery or other major vessel,” Joly replied, now beginning to rummage through his bag for the necessary implements. “I will need some hot water to clean these.”

“I knew you would say that,” Eponine quipped before going to the kitchen, where she found the water already at a merry boil. She carefully poured some of this into a bowl, which she carefully brought into the living room. “There’s more where that came from,” she said.

Joly nodded as he took off his coat and began to roll up his shirtsleeves. “I don’t have alcohol to help dull the pain, so you’ll have to brave it, my friend,” he said to LeClerc.

“Let’s go now, children,” Eponine said, scooping up Etienne and motioning for Laure and Julien to follow her. “Come on!” she cajoled Laure, who seemed to be hanging back.

“Papa gets to stay here, and so do Jacques and Neville,” Laure argued. “I’m big enough to see a little blood!”

“You’ll see more of that when you’re older, so don’t be eager to start,” Enjolras pointed out. “Laure, go with your mother.”

‘ _Little do you know, petite,’_ Eponine thought as she put a hand on the scowling girl’s back to guide her out of the living room. As soon as she closed the door, she set Etienne down to play with Julien before motioning for Laure to sit with her on the steps. “It’s not so much about being taller or bigger, Laure. You have to be ready for it,” she reasoned.

“You and Papa _always_ say I have to be older,” Laure fumed. “When can I be old enough?”

“It happens bit by bit; you won’t be ready for everything at once,” Eponine pointed out. “First you’ll be ready to go to bigger classes, then someday you will be ready to finish school and do whatever great things you wish. You have to learn them all slowly, and you can’t do it all at once!”

“I already read a lot!”

“Not everything is in our books, _petite_.”

Laure sniffed. “I’ve seen blood before, like when I fell out of the tree and hurt my arm.”

“That’s a rather different situation from Citizen LeClerc’s. Besides, how would you feel if you had everyone watching _you_ while your Uncle Combeferre or Uncle Joly was bandaging you up?” Eponine asked. She nodded when she saw Laure shake her head with obvious discomfiture. “I thought so. We need to respect our guest too.”

The little girl pouted as she seemed to consider this scenario. “But you’re also a lady, so why did you step out too?”

“Because I will also help out by making sure we have enough hot water for your Uncle Joly to do his work, _and_ also because I have to get started with dinner,” Eponine pointed out. ‘ _Knowing how cranky even Laure gets when hungry, I really have to do something about that soon,’_ she thought as let Laure head upstairs. Back in the kitchen, Eponine set more water to boil on the stove while she went about trimming the fat from a ham she’d acquired earlier in the day. ‘ _A little soup should round this out,’_ she decided silently.

Once the water had boiled, she brought another bowlful over to where Joly was now almost finished suturing LeClerc’s wound. Eponine wrinkled her nose at the astringent smell of carbolic soap as she looked to where Neville and Jacques were preparing some long bandages as if for a sling. Meanwhile, Enjolras was talking to LeClerc, clearly attempting to distract him. “Will he have trouble using his arm?” Eponine asked Joly, who was cleaning up a needle, scissors, and a pair of tweezers.

“I do not think so. He may rest at home tonight; he would recuperate better in a relaxed, safe place instead of in either of our houses. I will stop by his rooms to make sure he does not have a fever or other grave inflammation,” Joly said in a hushed tone. “In the meantime, you should not tax yourself overmuch,” he added more seriously.

“You may as well ask a fish not to swim,” Eponine said dryly before she returned to the task of cooking. After basting the ham with a sauce of vinegar, oil, herbs, and garlic, she set this to sear and then braise over a low heat. In due time she heard what sounded like Joly helping LeClerc out the door, towards a fiacre that somebody had called. She sat at the kitchen table even as she heard footsteps now headed towards where she was. “I s’pose that went well?” she asked Enjolras as he now stood in the kitchen doorway, seemingly watching her.

“Only as well as can be expected,” Enjolras said wryly. “Citizen LeClerc is a hardy fellow; he fought his way through a whole mob in Valencia on the day that Jacques and I met him. He will hopefully be well in a few days.”

“A whole mob! How did that happen?”

“Valencia was, probably still is, a city under foment. They aren’t happy even with the very liberal Regent and his policies that are watered down by moderates”

“Sounds like Paris a few years ago,” Eponine quipped. “What was in those papers that LeClerc had with him?”

“The exact substance of those documents will have to wait for a proper translation.”

“How will you go about that?”

“I may have to call on our friend Pontmercy again for assistance,” Enjolras replied, walking over to close the distance between them and then sit with her at the table. He clasped her hand even as he looked at her seriously. “There have not been any muggers or gangs operating in this neighborhood for a while.”

“That’s what I thought, unless someone got out of bounds?”

“Yes, or our friend was followed.”

She bit her lip at these words even as she tried to recall if she had seen anyone following LeClerc from the Rue des Cornelles . “It’s more likely that whoever did it had only one chance to lay him low, and then made a run for it when he failed. They might have seen him running here. Is it possible to move the documents to the Palais de Justice, where they can be locked up?” 

“The Palais de Justice is a public building, and not likely to be guarded as well especially in the evening hours. There is a separate vault for sensitive records, but these do not qualify as of yet,” Enjolras explained. “For now, those papers will stay here till I can find some way to bring them to the Marais or to where Pontmercy can meet me.”

Eponine shook her head. “It’s not that, Antoine.” She clasped both of his hands in hers, knowing that her fingers trembled despite his thumbs rubbing circles on her wrists. “Someone out there doesn’t want that primer of yours to be written, or some part of it.”


	18. Business from Manchester, Mystery from Berlin

On most days, Enjolras had no problem taking an omnibus or two to the general neighborhood of the Marais, and then walking the rest of the way to his destination. ‘ _Yet one cannot risk transferring from conveyance to conveyance when carrying sensitive documents,’_ he told himself as he finally alighted from a fiacre he had taken directly from his home all the way to 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire. As he knocked on the door he could hear the distant tolling of bells from the church of Saint-Denis du Saint Sacrament, hailing the 9th hour.

Basque met him at the door. “The Baron is still meeting someone about business, Citizen,” he greeted with a bow.

“I will wait, Citizen. It is an important and confidential matter,” Enjolras replied, taking care to keep his grip on his satchel. “Is Citizenness Pontmercy also receiving visitors?”

“No, the Baronne is out now, and she’s brought the younger children with her.”

“I see. What about Citizenness Gillenormand?”

“She is also receiving a visitor, which is why the Baronne stepped out.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, knowing better than to guess who the spinster was entertaining. “I will wait in the hall or anteroom; it is necessary that I speak with Citizen Pontmercy as soon as he is at liberty,” he insisted. He tipped his hat to Basque as the latter stepped aside to let him in, then showed him to a chair stationed outside Marius’ own study and office; clearly this seat was intended for clients or their companions. ‘ _Better here since the drawing room is sure to be occupied,’_ he decided as he looked through the papers he had brought with him.

A shout came from inside the office. “What do you mean you left him outside? Basque, please show Citizen Enjolras in, right away!” Marius ordered, only to emerge himself after a few moments. “I am sorry for this; you know that this is my aunt’s orders to keep the peace,” he greeted Enjolras apologetically.

“It is understandable,” Enjolras replied, remembering what had transpired the last time he had called on the Pontmercys. “I have some papers I need to show you and perhaps have you translate, but only in the strictest confidence.”

Marius nodded seriously. “Then show me later, after I introduce you to my guest.” He showed Enjolras into his study, which like most lawyers’ offices was furnished with a large desk, comfortable chairs, and shelves loaded with law books and case files. Seated near the desk was a slender gentleman with graying blond hair. Although he was dressed in a non-descript morning coat and trousers, something about his mien seemed rather martial. “Mr. Williamson, I’d like to introduce my colleague and friend Citizen Antoine Enjolras. Enjolras, meet Mr. Richard Williamson, who hails from Manchester in England,” Marius said by way of introduction.

Enjolras smiled, recognizing this surname from Eponine’s stories and letters. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Citizen Williamson. My wife speaks warmly of you and your spouse,” he said, shaking the Englishman’s hand.

“The pleasure is mine, to be here in France as well as meet such engaging persons such as yourself,” Williamson replied, looking Enjolras over. “Mr. Pontmercy and I were discussing a new joint venture.”

“Manchester is a center for the textile trade, producing raw material as well as finished product,” Marius explained. “It is a great place to possibly export some of the best works coming from our beads factory.”

“You, good Sir, are too generous,” Williamson pointed out. “The finest production must be sold at a premium domestically, for the luxury market. It is the next-rate stuff that must be sent out for mass export.”

“We take pride in our work; it is what our father-in-law used to do when he was still running the business personally. My wife and I, as well as our business partners the Lesgles, have agreed to adhere to this,” Marius said proudly.

Williamson nodded slowly. “He must have been quite an extraordinary man then. I am sure he must have trained under a master polytechnician or genius.”

‘ _I do not think Jean Valjean ever did,’_ Enjolras thought, but he only smiled to himself while Marius continued to extol the virtues and works of his late father-in-law. “More than his business innovation, he was a good man. That is his best legacy,” he remarked at length.

“A difficult one to live up to on a daily basis,” Williamson said. “For my part I try to be benevolent with my business; it is costly but I cannot quite bear to have my workers constantly complaining about their bodily grievances.”

“Such as?”

“The usual coughs, consumptions, and bodily aches that come from the trade.”

Marius nodded, barely masking an expression of disbelief. “We try to make sure that our workers stay in good health; the workrooms are always kept clean and airy, and everyone is permitted to move from his or her workbench in lieu of staying hunched over all day. Perhaps I can show you, if you and Mrs. Williamson would accompany us to Vernon?”

“I’d be delighted to,” Williamson said. “Perhaps you should join us too, Citizen Enjolras, and your wife as well.”

“If we can both be spared from work,” Enjolras replied dryly. ‘ _Perhaps Feuilly and his friends from the ateliers and artisans would have something to say about this,’_ he mused wryly even as he waited for Williamson to take his leave, and then for Marius to show the Englishman to the door. “He may be very well shocked by what he will see in Vernon,” he said when Marius returned.

“Shocked in a good or bad sense?” Marius asked worriedly as he took a seat again.

“In the educational sense.”

“Enjolras, you are terrible.”

“Not as terrible as this,” Enjolras pointed out, bringing out the documents he had brought. “These came from someone connected with the Prussian embassy, and were handed over to a friend,” he added as he handed them over to Marius.

The younger lawyer frowned for a moment as he scrutinized the documents, only to go very pale as he read further down the first page. “This is a plan to expand Prussian reach within the German confederation.”

“You mean a unification?”

“No, to have Prussian be the lead state, if not actually controlling the whole.”

‘ _Who then was that national holding these documents?’_ Enjolras wondered. “Which particular passages explain that?”

“The first page is a preamble: ‘ _of all the states in our confederation, it is only Prussia that has the might and will to unite these fragmented parts, and even subjugate them if necessary,’”_ Marius translated. He read through the rest of the pages and shook his head as he handed them back to Enjolras. “I could translate the rest for you, but I would rather not. I do not think these are meant to be on French soil.” 

“I shall have to arrange for their discreet return,” Enjolras agreed, tucking the documents back into his bag. “Thank you very much, Pontmercy. You might have averted a serious debacle.”

“The pleasure is mine,” Marius said with a more confident smile. “I would like it greatly if you and Eponine could accompany me, Cosette and the Williamsons to Vernon. It would make matters less awkward when the English see how we do things,” he said after a moment.

“Very well. When do you intend to make this trip?”

“Any day within this fortnight, as long as it isn’t September 15.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Any reason to avoid that day?”

“Well it is your birthday,” Marius replied, reddening slightly. “Surely you’d want to spend that day celebrating with your family!”

“I have yet to make plans,” Enjolras said. ‘ _Still why he should make that day an exception is a puzzle,’_ he thought even as he took his leave of Marius and left the study. Much to his dismay, just as he stepped out into the front hall, he caught sight of Thenardier and Celestine Gillenormand exiting the drawing room. “Good day to you both,” he greeted them as calmly as he could despite the bile rising in his throat.

“Why, that is too cordial to your father-in-law, Monsieur Enjolras,” Celestine Gillenormand said coolly. “We will be going to church at Saint-Sulpice. Would you care to join us?”

“Unfortunately, I have urgent business elsewhere,” Enjolras replied more easily.

Thenardier clucked his tongue even as he exchanged a look with Celestine Gillenormand. “Exactly like what I was telling you, my dear. If my daughter had enough sense to marry the Baron Pontmercy, she would be in a well-kept and pious home.”

“You never know with young people these days,” Celestine Gillenormand remarked, rolling her eyes. She sighed deeply as Thenardier opened the door for her in a gallant gesture. “I constantly pray that my nephew and his wife will continue to follow the precepts of our faith, and raise their dear children on the straight and narrow.”

“Indeed. They both live by what the evangelists say: it is not through worship alone that one gains the gates of Heaven,” Enjolras pointed out dryly. It was all he could do to keep a straight face at Thenardier’s glaring at him before Celestine Gillenormand urged the older man outside and into a waiting carriage. He waited a few more moments for the Gillenormands’ carriage to depart entirely before stepping out in turn and finding a fiacre to take him to the Rue des Lombards, where he knew that LeClerc was staying.

He found the young diplomat sitting up in a threadbare armchair, propped up by pillows, as he looked out the window of his tiny but neat apartment. “Good to see you up and about, somewhat. Has Citizen Joly been here yet?” he greeted LeClerc.

“Yes, and he said I should heal up nicely,” LeClerc said. “I didn’t get to thank you and Citizenness Enjolras properly for all your help yesterday.”

“It was necessary,” Enjolras replied, taking a seat on a rather rickety stool before he opened his satchel and brought out the papers from Prussia. “You could explain though how these documents came into your possession.”

LeClerc sighed deeply. “I’d meant to do that to you only before yesterday’s stabbing. I’d called on the Prussian embassy to clarify their roster of personages granted diplomatic immunity. On my way out, I met a Prussian national who was also on his way out. He was in a great hurry, but somehow he knew my name.”

Enjolras started at this. “Was he a diplomat?”

LeClerc shook his head. “If he was, then he must have just recently arrived from Berlin. He gave his name as Nessler.”

“Prussian in origin, but are you sure it was not an alias?” Enjolras asked.

LeClerc moved as if to shrug, only to gasp and wince at the wound in his shoulder. “I had no way of verifying it, but he shoved the papers at me and said that he had heard of what happened in Italy, and I had to take the papers _away_ from the embassy.”

“He was fleeing with them?” Enjolras asked querulously. 

“Maybe, but I did not see him being pursued by anyone. Maybe he had not been discovered yet,” LeClerc said. “I could not simply turn the papers over to the Home Office without finding out what this was about, so I went to find you, hoping you’d be able to locate a discreet translator.”

“I find it curious that someone was fleeing the Prussian embassy, carrying away plans to put the German confederacy under Prussian leadership,” Enjolras said, only to see LeClerc go pale. “It is possible that this Citizen Nessler is not even Prussian but could be Austrian or from any other state in the confederacy.”

“Not just possible, but probable,” LeClerc whispered. “He must have taken me for a dupe!”

“What do you mean?”

“If I had simply turned them over to the Home Office without knowing what those plans are, it would have been a row. It would have been a question if we the French were conniving with the Prussians to upset what was already set down in treaties and agreements. Now that I know, I have to find a better way of dealing with them.”

“I see. And how would you prevent this potential provocation from going further?” Enjolras asked worriedly.

LeClerc looked down for a moment. “You have a brother-in-law who works at the Prefecture, if I recall correctly?”

Enjolras sighed deeply. “Did Citizen Joly ask you to stay abed or resting?”

“Not particularly.”

“Then the Rue de Pontoise is our next stop.”


	19. Of Dealing with Innocents

As far as Eponine was concerned, the most difficult part of translation was reviewing and revising the previous day’s work. ‘ _If one word in English could correspond to just one word in French, or the other way around, this would be much easier,’_ she groused silently as she went over her rough translation of ‘ _The Lamentation of a Sinner’._ It was already almost ten in the morning, long after the worst of her morning nausea had already passed, and she already felt well enough to do some cleaning and other light chores.

She bit her lip as she opened the draft to a page, which she proceeded to redact in parts using a pencil, before quickly scrawling in a new translation on top. Even after all these years she sometimes could not help but second-guess her word choices, especially when she had in hand some particularly old or idiosyncratic works. “One can only wonder what Queen Catherine Parr really meant with all of this reflecting so lowly on herself,” she muttered, even as a loud clanging came from the next room.

Eponine put down her manuscript and walked out into the hall, where she saw Etienne holding a big metal pot in one hand, and a spoon in the other. “What are you playing, _petit_?” she asked before the boy could hit the pot again.

Etienne grinned at her toothily. “Marching band, Maman!”

“Tienne, you should play something quieter,” Eponine said, rubbing her temples where she could feel the beginnings of a headache. “I’ll let you draw in the study, would you like that?”

The toddler shook his head and pouted. “No! March!”

“You can play marching band later when the others are home and there are more of you,” Eponine reasoned, scooping the now wailing toddler up and bringing him into the study with her. She set him down in the small reading nook that the other children had set up in one corner, and then went to lie down on the chaise. ‘ _You went through this with Laure and Julien before, surely you can manage with Etienne and with the next one to come,’_ she told herself over and over in an attempt to stay calm even over Etienne’s screeching and protesting. Yet even after a minute the little boy still kept up with his tantrum, and Eponine could already feel her headache building. “Tienne! Quiet please!” she shouted, sitting upright.

Etienne fell silent and stared at her, his blue eyes wide with surprise. “Maman?”

“I’m sorry _petit,_ but I just need you to be a little quiet please,” Eponine said, trying to keep her voice level. “Can you do that?”

Etienne pouted before clambering onto the chaise. “Maman angry?”

“No, no. I’m just tired,” Eponine replied, shifting to let the child curl up next to her. ‘ _I can’t be as snappish as my mother was,’_ she worried silently even as she hugged Etienne to her chest and patted his back to soothe him. Try as she may, she could not bring to mind any recollection of her mother ever comforting any of the little boys. ‘ _Was she that way because there were so many of us at once?’_ she wondered as she closed her eyes in hope of easily drifting off to sleep.

It felt like only a few minutes had passed when she suddenly heard a knock on the front door. “Who is there?” she called even as she opened her eyes and stretched, taking care not to wake up a still napping Etienne.

“It’s only me, Ariadne,” a light voice answered nervously in English.

Eponine took a few moments to tie back her hair with a ribbon before going to the door. She sighed on finding the young girl looking down, wringing her hands. “Has something happened at your lodgings?” she asked. 

“Mother isn’t home again. She left me some money for breakfast, but I don’t know what to do for lunch,” Ariadne said sheepishly, wiping her hands on the skirt of her rust-colored gown. “If you have some bread or cheese to spare…”

“You’re _not_ going to beg for food, Ariadne. Come right in,” Eponine told her firmly. She smiled when she saw Etienne bound out of the study, clearly refreshed from his slumber. “There, you’ve got someone to help mind you a bit, Tienne,” she joked.

Etienne scowled at Ariadne. “Neville likes her. She stay here?”

‘ _If Neville had his way, it would be a yes,’_ Eponine realized even as she held back a laugh. “Just for this afternoon, _petit_ , till it’s safe for her to find her mother again,” she said. “If you mind him long enough, I’ll get a nice lunch up for us,” she promised Ariadne.

Ariadne nodded and held out her arms to Etienne, who shook his head and ran to hide behind Eponine’s skirt. “Is something wrong?” she asked Etienne in French.

Etienne stuck out his tongue. “She talks funny.”

“Tienne, we don’t say that,” Eponine scolded. She sighed deeply as she looked at Ariadne again. “I guess you might want to sit with us in the kitchen, unless you would prefer to read alone in the living room?”

“The kitchen is just fine,” Ariadne said before following Eponine and Etienne to the kitchen, only to take a seat at the table. The girl remained silent for a while, even as Eponine set about to peeling and slicing some potatoes. “May I ask about something, Citizenness Enjolras?” she finally blurted out.

“I s’pose you should; you look embarrassed,” Eponine remarked. “What is it?”

Ariadne’s cheeks reddened even further. “My mother said something that I should learn to endure wifely duties. What are those?”

“Wifely duties? Is that exactly what she said?”

“Yes, and she said something about looking up at the ceiling till it is all over.”

Eponine took a deep breath and glanced towards Etienne, who was now absorbed with rolling some potatoes across the floor. “We don’t say that sort of thing here in France,” she began. “I mean, not everyone talks about what husbands and wives do in private, but we don’t act like it is meant to be something so distasteful.”

Ariadne frowned. “Why would my mother say that?”

“I don’t know, to be honest,” Eponine mused as she began preparing a dish with some oil and salt. She shuddered as memories of coarse hands in dark alleys suddenly rose before her eyes, but she blinked these away and took another deep breath. “Didn’t she ever talk to you about these things before?”

The English girl shook her head. “But is it really so terrible?”

“It’s not supposed to be, Ariadne,” Eponine pointed out. She bit her lip before she could say something brash, willing herself to remember who she was talking to. “I s’pose every woman experiences it differently but there’s something wrong if you don’t want to really be with someone in that way, and yet you still end up in the same bed.”

Ariadne hid her cheeks in her hands for a few moments. “If I don’t enjoy it, does that mean something is wrong with me?” she asked.

“It simply means you have to see a doctor, or ask yourself if you and that man treat each other well enough,” Eponine said as she began arranging the potatoes in the dish. “The first might be easier to fix.” 

Ariadne was quiet a little longer as she watched Eponine make a sauce of milk, eggs, cream, and cheese.. “Mother says that it would be better if I had it with someone rich, so it would be worth the trouble. But that makes me someone like her, but just with a wedding ring,” she finally said in a small voice. “I can’t do that.”

“And that’s why I like you a great deal, Ariadne, for yourself as well as for Neville if that’s where it’s meant to be.” Eponine remarked as she poured the sauce over the potatoes and then sprinkled butter and some more cheese on top of it all. ‘ _I just sounded like my own mother-in-law there,’_ she realized, smiling to herself as she put the dish on the stovetop to cook through.

The mention of Neville had Ariadne grinning from ear to ear. “He isn’t like the other young men. He’s a perfect gentleman who I heard doesn’t just flirt with girls at parties.” Her cheeks pinkened, but this time with pride. “I wish he’d gone with me and my mother to that dinner. He would have been the most interesting person there.”

“What happened?”

“I almost fell asleep in my soup because of a man bragging for so long about the horses he owned, and where he’d gotten them from.”

Somehow these words evoked a picture of Dolores listening with exaggerated attention, and it was all that Eponine could do not to snort too openly. “I s’pose it would only have been interesting if you were a horsewoman yourself.”

“Yes, and that man ignored all attempts for actual conversation; he just wanted to hear himself,” Ariadne pointed out. “I heard that is impolite no matter where you go.”

In the meantime, Etienne was now rolling large potatoes towards a row of pots he had set up at one end of the kitchen. “Maman, _boules_!” he chirped.

“I s’pose we’ll have to get you a proper set some time, _petit_!” Eponine laughed even as she went to set the table and slice some bread for the meal. ‘ _And while getting that, maybe I can figure out something for Ariadne too,’_ she decided before they sat down to an unhurried lunch.

By the time Ariadne took her leave, it was nearly two in the afternoon. “If she ends up back here for dinner, we’ll have to go to the Prefecture first,” Eponine decided as she sat down at her desk to finish revising her translation. The meal and conversation had been enough to abolish her headache, thus allowing her to finish her work more easily within the next two hours. “Now just to recopy this cleanly, and finally I can get my fee for this!” she whispered as she got up from her seat to stretch and walk to the window just to take in a view of the street.

Feeling much more invigorated, Eponine then pulled Julia Williamson’s visiting card from the small file in her desk and checked the address. ‘ _Tomorrow or the day after would be a good day to go shopping,’_ she decided as she sat down once more to dash off notes to Cosette and Julia, which she then put out to post. Even as she did so, she already caught sight of Jacques walking up the street, with Julien in tow. Laure lagged a little bit behind, clearly trying to make conversation with another schoolmate, who was none other than little Armand Courfeyrac. ‘ _Looks like his father must be delayed from work, again,’_ Eponine realized as she opened the gate for the youngsters.

Laure quickly hopped up to her mother. “Armand has been sad all day at school. I thought you could help me try to cheer him up,” she announced with a tinge of worry in her voice.

“That’s good of you, Laure,” Eponine said, ruffling the little girl’s hair before giving Julien a quick hug. “What happened?” she asked Jacques.

Jacques shrugged. “Armand won’t say, he just mopes. Not like he’d say anything to us in the higher grades. You don’t think he’s sick?”

“He looks as well as any---” Eponine began before suddenly Armand slammed into her, clearly looking for someplace to hide his sniffling. She sighed as she disentangled her skirt from the little boy’s grip to try to get a look at his tear-stained face. “Now what’s gotten into your little nut?”

Armand sniffled and shook his head. “I don’t want to go to boarding school, Aunt Ponine!”

“Boarding school?” Eponine asked, taken aback. “What gave you that idea?”

“That lady Citizenness Wright said that if I’m not a good boy, she’ll tell Papa that I have to go to a boarding school and learn to be a gentleman there!” Armand bawled. “I don’t want to leave my Papa alone with her!”

Eponine’s jaw dropped at this revelation. “That horrible woman! Why when I get my hands on her—” she began, only to remember that the children, now including Etienne who had raced out into the garden, were watching her intently. “Your godfather and I will talk with your father when he gets here, Armand,” she reassured the still sobbing boy.

“Speaking of Citizenness Wright, you know what Neville’s got in mind to try to keep her?” Jacques reported to Eponine, barely hiding his chuckling. “We passed by for him at the Sorbonne, but he said he’d be late since he’s planning to speak with some professor if he could keep the library and collections for him!”

“Now don’t laugh at him for that; I started out with keeping books too, if you remember?” Eponine chided as she ushered all the youngsters into the house. “How late did Neville say he’d be? Would he be joining us for dinner?”

“He might, unless Ariadne asks him,” Laure said flippantly as she kicked off her shoes and sat on the stairs to remove her stockings. “That’s what people do when they like each other.”

“Only sometimes, and only when they are not being looked for by their own mothers,” Eponine pointed out. ‘ _Then again if Dolores does not care much for her own daughter, she probably won’t give a fig for Armand either,’_ she thought as she found some bread and opened a jar of apricot preserve that had been a going-away present from her in-laws. “I was saving this for a rainy day, but this ought to fix you all right up,” she said as she set this snack in front of the children.

Julien let out a cheer as he nearly fell on this food. “Can I bring some to school tomorrow?”

“If you also eat the rest of your lunch too,” Eponine said, rolling her eyes when she saw Laure give her brother a knowing poke. “That goes for all of you.”

“Sometimes I don’t want cold chicken, I’d rather have beef,” Laure argued.

“And if you want that, you’d better cook it yourself, _petite,”_ Eponine answered before going to check the larder for supplies. She sighed as she checked her watch, which showed the time to be just before five o’clock. ‘ _How much longer till Antoine gets home so we can try to help Armand?’_ she wondered as she found some bread, potted pork, and other ingredients for their dinner. 


	20. A Son's Choice

Much to Enjolras and LeClerc’s dismay, most of the detectives at the Rue de Pontoise were not on the premises that morning, and only a single junior agent had been left at the front desk. “We’ll need to have someone come to you then to oversee the proper procedures,” Enjolras said to LeClerc as they left the Prefecture. “In the meantime, do you have a safe place for these papers?”

LeClerc gritted his teeth. “I have a strongbox. It was not meant for this purpose, but it will have to suffice.”

‘ _Assuming of course that no one makes off with the box entirely,’_ Enjolras thought even as he saw LeClerc back to his apartment. After this he made his way to the Palais de Justice to see to some papers as well as collect some fees owed him for his cases. ‘ _Which will be just enough for the tasks at hand such as that second floor renovation,’_ he decided as he went to the bank to deposit most of the money, leaving only enough on his person for some household expenses such as a trip to the Marche Saint-Germain for some supplies.

As he was paying for some fresh greens and other vegetables, he caught sight of Charlesette Karolyn also making her way between the stalls. In a moment however the lady also spotted him and quickly gathered up her skirts to make her way over to him. “You’re just the person I wanted to see, Citizen,” she greeted.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Over what urgent matter?”

“I’d meant to call on your wife, but I’ve gotten lost in this neighborhood,” Charlesette explained, now speaking in Occitan. “Since you’re here though, I may as well ask you about something I am certain you could shed some light on.”

“If it is within my capacity to do so.”

“Tell me if what I heard is true, that Maurice Courfeyrac has a son?”

‘ _So much for all the secrecy,’_ Enjolras thought wryly as he met Charlesette’s questioning look. “Where did you hear that?” he asked slowly.

“Word gets around especially among the ladies, but I didn’t hear it from Eponine or any of her other friends. I figured it had to make sense; the child was said to be about nine years old, and that is how long Courfeyrac has been cut off from his kin in our hometown,” Charlesette replied, ticking off these facts on her fingers. “I figured that three men in Paris would know the truth of the matter the best: Citizen Combeferre because he is a doctor to all of you, Citizen Pontmercy because he is Courfeyrac’s close friend, and yourself because you have been friends with him since your first years in law school.”

‘ _The only other persons I know who could deduce that well are Bahorel, Therese, and Therese’s cousin Perrot,’_ Enjolras noted silently as he tightened his grip on his purchases. “What else have you heard?”

“You aren’t denying it outright, so that means there is truth to it,” Charlesette pointed out, her tone suddenly terse. She looked down for a moment and took a few deep breaths; when she looked up again, her eyes were glistening. “I heard that Courfeyrac acknowledged this child. Was he ever married to his mother?”

“Never. I can attest to that.”

“And you are the boy’s godfather?”

Enjolras nodded. “Is this why you wanted to call on Eponine today?”

“Yes,” Charlesette replied more pluckily. “We also have other things to talk about. This visit will not be long.”

‘ _Especially considering the hour,’_ Enjolras realized as he checked his watch; in a few minutes the bells at Saint-Sulpice would be tolling for Vespers. As he and Charlesette left the market, he could only wonder silently how the lady’s eventual conversation with Courfeyrac would play out. ‘ _It will take more than wit to see this through,’_ he decided as they neared 9 Rue Guisarde.

Even before he could unbolt the gate, he saw Eponine already at the door of the house. Her eyes went wide when she saw Charlesette, prompting her to rush to the gate. “You shouldn’t be here,” Eponine said in a whisper.

“What! I was meaning to call on you,” Charlesette said, putting her hands akimbo. “Is this a bad time?”

Eponine nodded. “The children have brought a friend over,” she said to Enjolras in English.

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face as he realized just who Eponine was referring to. “She knows already of him. She guessed from the rumors,” he said in French.

Eponine’s jaw dropped as she looked again at Charlesette. “Now what silly has been talking?” she asked, stepping aside to open the garden gate.

“A certain Englishwoman we _all_ know,” Charlesette said, rolling her eyes. “You didn’t hear her; you left the Place Vendome after the meeting. I wish you did, you would have smacked her for prattling on about Courfeyrac and how she was the only one who would agree to marry a man with a child of his own.”

“A likely story!” Eponine snorted. “Armand just said that she threatened to have him sent away to school.”

Enjolras saw red at these words, even as he felt Eponine’s hand on his arm. After a moment he met her equally indignant eyes. “You can tell Citizenness Karolyn what she has to know,” he said. “I’ll try to reassure Armand---”

“I _know_ you’re talking about me, Uncle!” a voice chimed in. Armand was now standing in the doorway, looking as resolute as his nine years could manage. The boy smoothed down his hair and clothes before hopping off the step and walking up to Enjolras, Eponine, and Charlesette. “You’re the lady my father likes,” he said to Charlesette.

Charlesette blushed, taken aback for a moment. “You can call me Citizenness Karolyn,” she said, recovering quickly. “And what do you like to be called?”

The child grinned toothily at her. “Armand.”

“That’s a handsome name. Now how do you know about me?”

“I heard you talking with my father when you gave him a ride in your carriage back to our apartment four days ago.”

“In your case, the apple does not even fall from the tree. You look _just_ like your father, and sound like him too,” Charlesette declared. “Do you still need to talk with him?” she asked Enjolras.

“Yes, briefly,” Enjolras said, motioning for Armand to follow him into the house, as far as the kitchen. He paused to put the vegetables on the table before crouching to see eye to eye with his godson. “You know that your father would never pack you off to study,” he simply said. “No one has the right to even suggest it.”

“But I know that Papa went to boarding school when he was a boy. You and my other uncles did so too,” Armand pointed out.

“Well because the schools for older boys were in the larger towns and cities, quite far from our houses and farms. Then of course there was going to university here in Paris years ago,” Enjolras explained. He held the boy by both shoulders. “You on the other hand have lived in this city all your life, and there is no practical reason why you should leave home just to have an education. Your father also loves you; everything he does is for your sake. He will not dismiss you so easily.”

Armand nodded trustingly. “My father would never send me away, would he?”

“Never.”

“Did you like boarding school?”

“Only on some years,” Enjolras said, smiling to himself at the recollection of misbegotten adventures with Coutard and other friends from Aix. “It was not always easy.”

Armand nodded once more. “Could you and Aunt Ponine please ask Papa if he could marry that nice lady Citizenness Karolyn?”

“I think your father should decide that for himself,” Enjolras said, feeling more heartened on seeing Armand at ease. He glanced to where Eponine was now standing in the doorway. “Everything well?” he asked, standing up to go to her.

“Charlesette said she’ll stay here a bit, till Courfeyrac comes for Armand,” Eponine said conspiratorially. She smiled at Armand. “There’s more apricots in the living room if you want them.”

“Citizenness Karolyn is there. She won’t shoo me away?” Armand asked warily.

“Not at all. I think she actually wants to talk to you,” Eponine reassured him. She sidestepped to let the boy run out, only to sigh as she looked at her husband. “How is he, really?”

“I had to make it clear that Courfeyrac would never send him away,” Enjolras answered, closing the distance between him and Eponine. “What possessed that Citizenness Wright to say something so thoughtless?”

“She hardly even cares for her own daughter; Ariadne was here again for lunch, and I shall not be surprised if she is back here for dinner,” Eponine said. She bit her lip as she reached up to undo the buttons on Enjolras’ coat. “I think that Dolores is trying to get Ariadne married off.”

“What gave you that impression?”

“Ariadne was asking me about ‘wifely duties’. Imagine that!”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow even as he took off his coat and let it hang on a chair. “Judging from your tone, that was not a very decorous topic.”

“Not at all, and I do not know why Dolores says such things!” Eponine said. “I have got to ask Cosette and maybe even Mrs. Williamson for some help with finding some better situation for Ariadne other than being a wife to someone who is likely to be twice or thrice her age!”

“She is from England?” Enjolras asked. “It might interest you to know that her husband is partnering with none other than the Pontmercys.”

Eponine’s eyes went wide with surprise. “His cloths with their beads?” she laughed incredulously. “I s’pose that would be a very interesting thing to watch.”

“So much so that Pontmercy is inviting us to join them for a tour of their factory in Vernon.”

“Ah, he wants us along for help with the language.”

“It sounds like it is more than language, but rather it is a question of Citizen Williamson’s stances particularly with regard to labor,” he confided. He took her hand and kissed it. “Do you feel up to the task?”

“I s’pose so,” she said before reaching up to kiss him soundly. “Now let’s get started with dinner before—”

“Enjolras! What is going on _here?”_ Courfeyrac’s voice roared from the front hall.

Eponine’s eyes went wide. “Oh no. You know that he almost never shouts!”

“Indeed,” Enjolras muttered, taking Eponine’s hand as they stepped out to the sight of all the children, including Armand, perched on the stairway. All the youngsters were wide-eyed with watching Charlesette looking right up at Courfeyrac, who was red in the face. “Good evening, Courfeyrac,” he greeted.

“This is a set-up, isn’t it?” Courfeyrac fumed. “After I told you not to tell her?”

“If you stopped fuming long enough, I would be able to tell you that I found out myself!” Charlesette hissed. “It wasn’t all that difficult to do!”

Courfeyrac stepped back, now going very pale. “How long have you known?”

“Since the meeting at the Place Vendome,” Charlesette retorted. “When were you ever planning to tell me about Armand?”

“Sometime soon, I just wasn’t sure when or how,” Courfeyrac confessed. He swallowed hard before he spoke again. “You have every right to be angry with me over this.”

Charlesette shook her head before looking at him, as if seeing him for the first time. “I’m not angry that you have a son. I’d have to say that it was a shock, but I’m proud of you for raising such a wonderful child,” she said after several seemingly interminable seconds. “I just only wish you’d told me sooner, before I had to find out from everybody else.”

“Charlesette---”

“We need to talk, Courfeyrac, but not here. You should see to your son first.”

Enjolras cleared his throat, seeing his friend’s confused look. “You should know that Citizenness Wright frightened Armand, by threatening him with being sent to boarding school,” he said firmly. “That was why he hurried here.”

Courfeyrac’s jaw dropped. “She really said that?” he asked Armand in a voice that was thick with shock and fury.

Armand nodded solemnly. “Yesterday, Papa. She said that when you left the office to get something and you told me to wait for you there.”

Courfeyrac swallowed hard as he went to scoop up his son and hug him tightly. “I’ll never allow anyone to do that, my boy,” he whispered. He set down Armand before looking to his friends. “Thank you for taking care of him. I think we should be going home now.”

“Will you need any further assistance?” Enjolras offered.

The younger attorney shook his head before looking beseechingly at Charlesette. “What about you?”

“I can hail my own carriage, Courfeyrac. It will help me think things over,” Charlesette said firmly, stepping away from him. She reached for her hat, which had been hanging on a peg, and donned it with a sigh as she looked at Eponine and Enjolras. “I’m sorry that I can’t stay either. Maybe some other day?”

“You’re always welcome here, Charlesette,” Eponine said. “Please, do come by again.”

Courfeyrac quickly took Charlesette’s hand. “Can I at least walk you home?”

She pulled her hand out of his grip and shook her head as she went to the door. “Not tonight. Please.”

“Charlesette---”

“Goodbye for now, Courfeyrac.”


	21. Love's Keen Sting

“Then he didn’t go after her?”

“She wouldn’t have it, and it wasn’t as if he could run after her with Armand around.”

Azelma whistled and shook her head. “That’s why Courfeyrac was moping and weeping when he came by yesterday. Has he talked to anyone else since?” she asked before stepping back from the panel she had been painting that spanned the length of one of the walls of her studio in the upper reaches of the Odeon.

“Maybe to Antoine, if they met at the Palais de Justice yesterday,” Eponine said, reaching over to get a pot of paint out of reach as Maximillien ran by in a game of his. She shrugged as she put the pot on a tray by the panel. “Or to Combeferre if they chanced to meet.”

“He’d have to let it out first before talking sense with either of them, so you might want to check with Grantaire or maybe even Joly and Bossuet first,” Azelma pointed out. “Jehan tried to give him advice, the way that he likes to do, but I don’t think Courfeyrac was having it.”

‘ _It’s serious if even Jehan can’t get through to him,’_ Eponine realized, biting her lip. “Bossuet wouldn’t give much advice on that, however.”

“He’d commiserate, maybe even caution Courfeyrac against romance altogether. Can you blame Bossuet after all that happened between him and Marthe, or rather Marthe’s family?” the younger woman said with a sigh. “Everyone deserves something better than maintaining an address for appearance’s sake, or for the children’s sake.”

“Courfeyrac wouldn’t have that; he’d rather live alone and raise Armand alone instead of having an unhappy wife.”

“That is why our friend is a gentleman.”

Eponine nodded ruefully as she now looked at Azelma’s handiwork, which depicted a lush riverside scene, with people walking by a group of laundresses while a flat-bottomed boat loomed in the distance. “Is this any particular river?” she asked.

“It’s the Loire, the Rhone, and now that you are asking me, it is a bit of the Seine as well,” Azelma replied, tucking a stray stand of hair under the old cravat she was using to keep her tresses out of her face. “I don’t like to paint from memory.”

“Why not?”

“Because if someone recognizes a river, he or she might say that they remember it differently from how I do, and that’s not something I can just settle. I just combine two or more scenes so that no one can argue with me there.”

Eponine smiled, already imagining how such a talk would have transpired. “And you can get the best of them all to make something that is really pretty,”

“There is such a thing as _too_ pretty, so that’s why I have this,” Azelma said, gesturing to the silhouetted boatman.

“I s’pose so. Are you sure you don’t want to join us shopping?”

“Not today, I need to paint this while it is still in my head.”

Eponine nodded understandingly. “Next time then? It’s been a good while since we’ve gone about, just us two, and I didn’t bring back with me everything I wanted to bring back from Italy and England for you.”

“Ponine, you don’t need to think of _that_ when you’ve got another baby coming along,” Azelma chided, picking up her brushes to clean them. “I’ll see you all for sure at that testimonial dinner for Enjolras. It’s going to be on his birthday, isn’t it?”

“Yes, and if he has a clue about what is going on, he isn’t letting on,” Eponine quipped.

“I thought it was supposed to be a surprise?”

“You know how lawyers don’t keep secrets unless they are paid to do so.”

Azelma rolled her eyes. “I’ll also buy something nice to wear. You don’t mind watching Maximillien for me when I go to shop?”

“Of course he can come over. His cousins would like that.”

“I thought so. Tell Cosette and Claudine that I’ll visit them soon.”

“Thank you Zelma,” Eponine said, hugging first her sister and Maximillien. She carefully went down the back stairway that led from her sister’s private workroom directly to the rear of the Odeon on the Rue Vaugirard, which was busy in mid-morning. ‘ _Perhaps I should stop by and see if Ariadne would like something as well,’_ it occurred to her. But when she stopped by the Wrights’ lodgings, there was no answer at their door. “They stayed out all night?” she wondered worriedly as she made her way downstairs once more and this time walked to the Rue Ferou.

When she arrived there, she caught sight of Cosette, Claudine, and Julia just alighting from a coach. “Sorry I’m late, I just had to stop over to see my sister,” she greeted.

Cosette cringed. “We should have thought of asking Azelma along. I’m so sorry!”

“I invited her, but she’s got a set she’s painting. It’s going to look stunning, I’m sure,” Eponine said. “If you’re going to be here in October, you’ll catch the opening night of their play at the Odeon,” she told Julia.

“That will depend on my husband,” Julia said. She pursed her lips as she surveyed the atelier they were at. “We begin here?”

“Yes, this is owned by three of our friends, and the workmanship is quality,” Claudine replied as she stepped into the shop. “Good morning, Nicholine. Are we late for our appointment?” she greeted the lady at the counter.

“You’re right on time,” Nicholine said, going to greet Claudine, then Cosette and Eponine. “You must be Mrs. Williamson,” she said to Julia. “I’m Nicholine Montrose-Grantaire, one of the owners of this atelier.”

Julia looked around approvingly at the colorful gowns artfully arranged onto mannequins throughout the store. “These designs should really grace our English balls.”

“They will, if you make a fashion of them when you bring them back,” Nicholine quipped. “Over here we have a number of gowns that are simply ready for alteration; those work for those in a rush or needing something less expensive. That’s the bulk of our business, but we have many items that are strictly made to order.”

“I need a pelisse to match that green silk that Musichetta made for me here last winter,” Claudine said. “Francois and I have a presentation at the Sorbonne---”

“A pelisse! It’s no longer 1835!” Nicholine screeched. “A cape would be much more practical than a pelisse, since it can be matched to more things!”

“It doesn’t _look_ very academic.”

Eponine rolled her eyes as Nicholine and Claudine continued to debate. “They do this all the time when we need to get something done. It’s harmless,” she explained to Julia, who looked rather concerned while Cosette was holding in her laughter as they took some seats in the room.

“I would never dare to argue with my modiste,” Julia said, fanning herself. “But Madame Grantaire is right about capes. Pelisses look so dreadfully mannish.”

“But they have pockets,” Eponine pointed out. She bit her lip as she looked at her friends, wondering silently how to phrase her next question. “Mrs. Williamson, is there a way that a girl in England can legally get away from her mother?”

“Get away? Why would she want to do that?” Julia asked confusedly.

“I’m asking for someone I know, who recently arrived in France,” Eponine began.

Julia’s merry face turned into a scowl. “You mean that tart Dolores Wright? She has the most terrible reputation!”

Eponine and Cosette exchanged surprised looks. “You know her?” Cosette asked.

“I only know _of_ her,” Julia said with a shudder. “She is rather known among some of the gentlemen of Mayfair, and she used to reside in Southwark. That is not a very cheap neighborhood, so it was no surprise with her way of living that she soon ran into debt!”

“I’m asking on behalf of her daughter,” Eponine clarified. “I think that her mother intends to marry her off here in France.”

“Is that even allowed?” Cosette asked. “Considering the different nationalities alone, that would make a marriage a little complicated.”

“Not if she is at least fifteen, and I am sure the girl is older than that,” Julia said disdainfully. “If you ask me, marriage is a better fate than living with such a mother.”

‘ _Unless that mother intends to profit from that marriage,’_ Eponine thought. “But if she wants to get away without being married, could she go to the British embassy and ask for refuge there?”

“That would only be temporary, and some decision would have to be made if she should be sent back to England to take care of herself there, or if she should become someone’s ward. In the first case, that Mrs. Wright could always send for her again or find some other mischief to do. The second would be better.” Julia looked seriously at Eponine. “Are you considering taking her in?”

“Right now, I cannot.”

“Especially since your brother is courting that young lady,” Nicholine chimed in, looking up from where she was measuring Claudine’s shoulders. “That’s the complicated part.”

Julia burst out laughing. “That girl is young Neville’s sweetheart? Now I see your predicament. He is only her age, isn’t he?”

“Unfortunately.”

“If he was just two or three years older, I would have told you to just get them married right away in the British embassy; it might be faster than applying at the Hotel de Ville!”

Eponine smirked even as she shook her head. “That would still be a poor reason for a marriage,” she whispered before turning her attention to where Nicholine had now handed one end of the measuring tape to Claudine so that she could hold it up while measuring the length of a garment. ‘ _Perhaps if someone needs a good hand with drawing, Ariadne might find a good situation there,’_ she mused silently as she watched Julia now step up for her turn to be measured for a dress.

Cosette met her friend’s eye and nodded reassuringly. “I’m sure a solution will present itself for Ariadne in time. As for her mother, we have the good Lord for that.”

“A miracle, and nothing short of one,” Nicholine concurred. “Mrs. Williamson, don’t be afraid to hold your arms up. If that dress bunches, there is no shame in blaming your corset!” she told the Englishwoman.

Julia flushed deeply as she held her arms over her head. “I knew I should have bought a different size before leaving England!”

“No, you need to have one made for yourself; you need to properly account for every single curve. I can recommend a good corset-maker too,” Nicholine said firmly. “Eponine, stand up here so I can show Mrs. Williamson what I mean; I can see you’ve got a good one on today.”

“You’re not laced in too tightly, I hope?” Claudine asked. “After some point you’re going to have to leave corsets off entirely or find one that is less boned.”

“Why would you---” Julia began before looking Eponine over, only to have her eyes go wide with realization. “Oh my! How far are you along?”

“A little under three months,” Eponine said with a smile.

“I knew something was different with you when I called on your house,” Julia pronounced. “I am glad that I saw you before your confinement.”

“Confinement?”

“Well, isn’t it a bit unseemly for a woman to be seen out and about in public when she is in a delicate condition?”

“Only if she is feeling poorly or ill, and even then those situations are comparatively few,” Claudine pointed out. “Many of us women who work cannot afford to spend weeks or months simply staying at home or in our bedchambers.”

Julia shuddered at the thought. “It is still so unbecoming, especially if one is seen in that condition so _often_! Imagine what people would think of your decorum, even if you were married!”

Eponine giggled, especially on seeing how Cosette, Claudine, and Nicholine were also trying to hold back their own mirth. “Why should anyone be so scandalized about it? I’d be terribly worried if my husband lost _that_ sort of interest in me!”

“But what would he think?”

“No Frenchman ever died of seeing his wife with child.”

Julia’s face turned deep red even as the rest of the ladies burst into laughter so loud that a few seamstresses in the atelier’s back room peered in curiously. “I can only imagine the shock that it would cause in a drawing room,” she finally said faintly as she stepped back when Nicholine was finished with her measurements.

‘ _It might catch on eventually though,’_ Eponine thought as she stepped up for her turn to have her measurements taken. “It’s just for that dinner in two weeks, on Antoine’s birthday,” she said to Nicholine.

“Yes, the testimonial dinner,” Nicholine said tersely. “Will you be wearing green, red, or some other color?”

“I prefer green. He also likes it on me so that’s doubly nice.”

“I see. I wonder if Laurent and his journalist friends will be featuring that dinner.”

“It’s hardly a society event; it’s just a tradition to honor the lawyer or magistrate who’s done exceptionally well over the past year or so,” Eponine explained. She bit her lip when she saw Nicholine look down for a moment. “Is something wrong?”

The older woman took a deep breath. “I never told you why I stayed in Venice while my husband went on with you and the rest to Florence.”

“I meant to ask you about it, but I wasn’t sure if I should,” Eponine admitted as she held up her arms so that Nicholine could measure her bust. “I never asked Grantaire either.”

“I agreed to go on that trip not just because Musichetta asked, but because Laurent promised we’d go together to do some sightseeing. We had both wanted to be in Venice, and that expedition would have been perfect,” Nicholine began. “But when he said he wanted to go on to Florence just to help _your_ husband out, I wasn’t having it.”

Eponine winced. “I’m sorry. If Antoine and I had known of it, maybe we might have reasoned with Grantaire to stay with you instead.”

“That wouldn’t have been up to you to interfere. It’s just for me and Laurent to handle,” Nicholine said, looking Eponine in the face. “I married him knowing that he loves me, but that also I can never be that shining idol that Enjolras is in his life. He does his best with what he can give me and our children, but sometimes his devotion overrules it all.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“You wouldn’t know it, Eponine. Your husband loves his ideals first, while mine will always adore another man.”

“And you are fine with it?”

“Laurent is a good husband to me, and a great father to our children. He has never strayed, and he has done his best to provide. I love him, and that is why I am content.”

‘ _Content yet not so blissful,’_ Eponine noted as Nicholine handed her the tape measure. It was all she could do to stay still to let her friend measure the intended length of the dress. “I s’pose if it hadn’t been for me, maybe Antoine might have given Grantaire a chance?”

“Now don’t think for one second that it would work; that would have been outrightly disastrous---especially on Enjolras’ end,” Nicholine pointed out. “I cannot imagine anything worse.”

It was all that Eponine could do not to cringe at the images this evoked, up until the moment she went back to her seat to wait for Cosette to finish her turn. ‘ _I hope that she can bear it up,’_ she could not help thinking as the other ladies began conferring about hats, shawls, and other accessories to match their planned outfits. She looked outside and bit her lip; thunderheads were beginning to form in the otherwise clear sky, and a breeze was beginning to rise, whipping leaves all the way down the Rue Ferou.

By the time they left the atelier, it was already past noon and the sky was rather darkened. “That took longer than we thought, but in the most pleasant way possible,” Julia remarked. “Do you have other obligations today?”

“Unfortunately, I did promise my daughters they would have the afternoon with me,” Cosette apologized. “I was thinking that all of us, and our husbands too, could go up to Vernon this Thursday evening, spend Friday there to tour our new workshop there, and be back here in Paris by Saturday morning.”

Julia’s eyes widened. “Has Citizen Pontmercy told Richard yet?”

“I think they should be discussing it, but I was asked to also mention it to you and Eponine. You too as well Claudine; I think you and Combeferre would enjoy it,” Cosette offered.

Claudine paused as if recalling something and then shook her head. “I have some students to tutor on Thursday, and Friday is when Francois and I will be needed at the university. I’m sorry but I must refuse.”

Cosette sighed and looked to her other friend. “Eponine?”

“If nothing comes up with translating, I might be able to make the trip,” Eponine said. “It would be good for Antoine too.”

“Are you done yet with the translation of Queen Parr’s book?” Cosette asked.

“I’m recopying out the final work, and I should be able to submit it by Monday,” Eponine replied. “Have you ever read “The Lamentations of a Sinner”? It was by the former Queen of England, Catherine Parr.” she asked Julia.

The Englishwoman frowned. “What’s that sort of book doing here in France?”

“All kinds of things come from the embassy and your fellow nationals. I s’pose someone is up to some religious instruction.”

“The title says it all. I find anything from that era, with the exception of Shakespeare, as too pious for my taste.”

“Even if it was written by a Queen?”

“Especially if it was.”

Eponine shrugged before looking at Julia again. “Maybe if the Queen now gets to writing something, it might be less dull,” she mused wryly.

Julia choked but suddenly let out a laugh that she immediately stifled with a hand on her mouth. “Now don’t say that where my husband can hear you,” she warned. “I’ll see you ladies this Thursday then; do write about where and when we shall meet!”

“Of course we shall,” Eponine said before the ladies all took leave of each other. She pulled her gloves more tightly over her hands as she looked around once her friends had departed; although home was just across the Place Saint-Sulpice, there was still the mystery of the Wrights’ apartment at the Rue Vaugirard. ‘ _If I run or at least walk fast enough there and back again, I shan’t be caught by the rain,’_ she resolved.

As she reached the area of the Luxembourg, she caught sight of the Wrights’ apartment building ; the windows were open and it appeared as if there were several people inside the third-floor apartment. “What sort of rumpus is that?” she wondered aloud a moment before an ear-splitting scream rent the air. 


	22. Breaking an Ambition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a dark turn I wasn't expecting. Tw for child neglect

_September 3, 1842_

_Paris, France_

_My dear friend,_

_I would have relayed the news in person, but I have to depart the city immediately for my new post in Berlin. Yes, I have accepted the post as envoy to Prussia. I hope that this new opportunity will help me redeem my name and be of better use to this country._

_Should you need any assistance from Prussia or the other kingdoms of the German Confederation, such as for the primer you are working on, you may write directly to me. I will endeavor to provide what resources are within my power to share. I wish you and your family all the happiness and peace you deserve._

_Your friend,_

_Luc Belmont_

_P.S. I have just learned now that Audric de Polignac and his lovely Clarita intend to travel to France. Since you and your wife have maintained ties with them, I will recommend them to your care and hospitality. It appears to be a long visit, for as long as things do not sit well in Madrid._

This letter, almost unintelligible with the haste it was written, arrived at 9 Rue Guisarde while the man of the house and all his children were sitting down to an early lunch. “This will not be the last time we will meet,” Enjolras remarked as he took one more look at the note and then put it in his waistcoat pocket.

Jacques quickly swallowed a mouthful of soup. “If he is going to be the new ambassador to Prussia, and Citizen D’Aramitz is gone, who then will be the next ambassador to Spain?” he asked as he wiped his mouth.

“There is no word on that yet,” Enjolras replied, pausing to right a glass before Etienne could upend it all over his food. Yet even as he did this, he saw Julien and Laure gouging holes in the middles of bread slices, which they were stacking up on a plate. “I believe we’ve had a discussion about playing with your food,” he said sternly.

“It’s not playing, we’re experimenting,” Laure said as she began to spoon soup into the middle of this stack. “It isn’t going anywhere!”

“Why won’t it? I want a tower of soup,” Julien whined. “Can you help us make one, Papa?”

“No, and no. Soup doesn’t work that way, and you two have to eat all those slices you just soaked,” Enjolras reprimanded them. He raised an eyebrow at the horrified looks that spread over the two miscreants’ faces, especially when the now soggy pieces of bread collapsed into a heap. ‘ _That is a lesson that should stick,’_ he thought even as a knock sounded on the front door.

“That must be Ponine now,” Neville said as he pushed back his chair. He returned a few moments later with Courfeyrac and Feuilly in tow. “They said it’s something important.”

‘ _Feuilly must have found something useful,’_ Enjolras realized, remembering now their conversation a few days ago. The fact that Courfeyrac looked unusually well-groomed and resolute only lent more gravity to the situation. “Finish your lunch, children,” he said before conducting his friends to the study. He motioned for them to take seats. “What news?”

“Remember I said I would write to Citizen Delaroche? I did not have to,” Feuilly said as he brought out a letter from his coat pocket. “Apparently Citizenness Dolores Wright has not only some creditors chasing after her, but also some fraud charges that should put our embassy on alert.”

“Fraud charges?”

“Yes, some schemes with previous patrons or partners, however they are called.”

“I see, and these will serve as an impediment to whatever scheme Citizenness Wright has?” Enjolras asked.

Courfeyrac rested his hands on his knees as he looked at his friends. “I intend to break with her today, to make it clear that I will not be paying any romantic attention to her. What she said to Armand was the last straw. This information from the ambassador is merely a little more leverage.”

“When do you intend to carry this out?”

“This very hour. I will call on her at her apartment near the Luxembourg.”

Enjolras nodded grimly before looking to where Neville was now standing in the study doorway, looking rather stricken. “Do you need something?” he asked in a level tone.

“If you confront Citizenness Wright, what is going to happen to Ariadne?” the boy asked. “She might take her back to England.”

“I hardly think that is a possibility considering what they have left behind,” Feuilly said.

“You don’t understand. Her mother has been trying to marry her to some rich man, that is why they have been going to balls and all,” Neville retorted. “Isn’t there a way you can get her away from her mother and she can stay safely here in Paris?”

“How old is the younger Citizenness Wright?” Feuilly asked.

“Seventeen.”

“She then is old enough to decide whether to stay with her mother or to seek her own path,” Enjolras pointed out. “It is not a choice you can make for her, Neville.”

Neville shook his head. “There isn’t a choice if there isn’t anywhere for her to go.”

“What do you propose then?”

“Well….”

“Before you continue on in that vein, you have to remember that she is a British citizen, and would have to be turned over to the embassy officially if she is to seek asylum or seek residency in France away from her mother’s care,” Feuilly said, holding up a hand. “If she does that, there may be some options for her.”

“What are those options?” Neville asked, crossing his arms. 

“I will think of them, and none of them involve staying in this house. You hardly have enough room as it is,” Feuilly said. He looked out the window and gritted his teeth. “We’d better go now before it rains; there is a storm coming in.”

Enjolras let Courfeyrac and Feuilly leave the room first before looking at Neville, who seemed to be on the verge of tears. He clasped the boy’s shoulder firmly. “Whatever she chooses, we will always be there to help when she needs it. I’ll make sure to let her know that.”

Neville took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped his eyes. “I want to be sure that she will be safe, no matter where she is.”

“That cannot be ascertained. All you can do is trust her that she will make the right choices,” Enjolras said before going to get his coat and hat. He nodded to Jacques, Laure, Julien, and Etienne, who were all seated on the stairs and munching the soggy bread. “We’ll be back,” he said before heading out to join Courfeyrac and Feuilly, who were at the front gate.

When they arrived at the apartment on the Rue Vaugirard, a wizened concierge was sweeping the hall. The old woman looked them over from head to toe as she set aside her broom. “Are you now customers of that woman, or suitors of her girl?”

“Neither, my good lady; on the contrary we have come to settle other accounts with her,” Courfeyrac said. “Is she awake?”

“Hmph. Came back smelling of another man, that one did,” the concierge grumbled. “And with that girl half-asleep too.”

“At what time was this?”

“An hour ago, Citizen.”

Courfeyrac shook his head before heading upstairs, taking two steps at a time. He knocked hard on the apartment door, making it shake in its frame. “Citizenness Wright!” he shouted. “I know you are in there!”

“What are you doing here, my good man?” Dolores’ languid voice came from within the apartment. When she opened the door, she was clad only in a dressing gown that was slipping off her shoulders. “This is a pleasant thing to wake up to, my dear,” she crooned as she ran her hands through her hair, which fell in frowsy strands with the curls half-fallen out.

“I wouldn’t say that so easily, Citizenness,” Courfeyrac said. “Please, can you put on something to wear so we can talk?”

“This is my apartment, I will wear whatever I wish. As you should too,” Dolores insisted, grabbing Courfeyrac by his lapels to drag him in. “Make yourself at home!”

Enjolras and Feuilly quickly sprang forward to stop the door before Dolores could shut it. “Citizen Courfeyrac requested for us to be here,” Enjolras said, grabbing the knob. “Either you speak with us outside or let us in as well.”

“Why even you too, Citizen Enjolras? What would your wife say?” Dolores laughed. “Unless you want to join our lovers’ rendezvous?”

“This is nothing of that sort,” Enjolras retorted, fixing her with a glare before he stepped into the room. He had to fight to keep a straight face at the mingled odors of cologne and unwashed undergarments that seemed to permeate the place, even when Courfeyrac opened the windows for some air. “By the way you have not yet met our friend, Citizen Feuilly. He is from the diplomatic corps,” he added as Feuilly stepped into the apartment.

“I’ve known a few fancy consuls and envoys in my day,” Dolores giggled as she sprawled on the couch. She waved to Courfeyrac. “Come on, what is this about, my love?”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “I am sorry that I cannot let you call me that. It is not appropriate when you cannot love what is mine as well.”

“Oh, what is that?”

“My son. He told me that you threatened to have him sent away to a boarding school.”

Dolores’ eyes widened as she sat up quickly. “I think he must have misunderstood me. You know how children are!” she said with a nervous laugh. “I only meant that he would have to be a good boy if he was to stay with us, as a matter of course when we are married---”

“There is not going to be a marriage, Citizenness,” Courfeyrac retorted, his voice suddenly harsh. “After you have treated my son this way, it is impossible.”

Dolores’ jaw dropped as she paled. “You cannot do this to me. Not after _everything_ we have done together! I thought you were an honorable gentleman!” She seized his arm. “I’m going to be ruined, don’t you understand?”

“That would only be the case if there was an engagement, which there was none and never will be,” Courfeyrac reasoned, shaking off her grip. “That is unless you have been telling people that we are engaged?”

“I don’t know how you do things here in France, but we do things seriously in England,” Dolores retorted. “Were we in London, we would be as good as engaged by now!”

“Here in Paris we do things straightforwardly; a mere presumption does not make an arrangement,” Enjolras cut in. “Furthermore, we have received word that you have accounts that should be properly settled in England before you can consider making any matrimonial tie there or in any place abroad.”

“If you mean my debts, those are trifles. Who does not have a creditor or two?” Dolores said. “I’m only a woman who is never going to be as rich as you dashing gentlemen from the estates in the south of France! Your friend is throwing me over for that provincial hussy, isn’t he?”

“He never said anything of that sort,” Feuilly chimed in. “I have official word from our ambassador that you have several cases pending, not only with regard to debt, but of accusations of swindling several gentlemen. Rest assured our embassy will take proper action on these.” He smiled coolly as Dolores paled further. “You cannot deny it.”

“What sort of brutes are you to come into my rooms to accuse me of such horrible things!” Dolores cried, putting her hands to her chest. She looked imploringly at Enjolras. “I thought you would understand, given that your wife---”

“Is an honorable woman herself,” Enjolras interrupted. It was all he could do not to look away with disgust even as Dolores tried to inch over to him. He stood up and crossed his arms. “There is another concern to settle. Where is your daughter?”

“Why she is in the next room, what do you want with her?” Dolores said.

“To ascertain her welfare.”

“Why then? I do well enough for her.”

“I take that includes, on top of leaving her to fend for herself in a city she hardly knows anything about?” Enjolras asked.

“My Ariadne is an obedient girl to her mother, which is more than I can say about your son,” Dolores sneered as she got up to knock on a side door. “Ariadne, get up this instant!”

After a few moments the door opened and Ariadne emerged, looking very pale. “What is it, Maman?” she asked softly.

“Tell these good gentlemen how well I treat you; this man here thinks I do not do right by you,” Dolores implored, clasping her hands together. “You are my good girl, aren’t you?”

Ariadne nodded shakily. “Yes, you treat me right, Mama.”

“Yes, and that means taking you to all the parties you want and giving you such fine dresses,” Dolores crooned. She smiled triumphantly at the men. “See, we live very nicely for foreigners here in France.”

“Mama---” Ariadne began, swaying on her feet. She took a step towards Dolores only for her eyes to roll back in her head as she collapsed to the floor.

Dolores screamed and sprang to her child. “Ariadne! Don’t faint like this, you silly girl! Wake up!” she screeched, pinching and slapping her.

“That is enough! She needs a doctor!” Courfeyrac shouted, pulling Dolores off the girl. “Some sort of a mother you are!”

Before Enjolras could move to get Ariadne off the floor, he heard footsteps in the hall and then looked up to see Eponine now standing in the doorway. “What are you doing here?” he asked in consternation.

“I was passing by and I heard a scream outside,” Eponine said, eyes widening as she took in the scene before her. She doffed her hat as she went to where Ariadne was still unconscious, only to swear as she chafed the girl’s brow and hands. “She’s burning up!”

“It’s probably just a fit---” Dolores said nervously.

“I shouldn’t have let her leave our house,” Eponine whispered, shaking her head as she took off her coat to wrap Ariadne up in it. “She’s even thinner than when we first met her.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth at the implications of this. “Did you see Joly at the Rue Ferou today?” he asked.

“I did not get to check, but I did not see Musichetta at the atelier either,” Eponine murmured. “Could you run over there to have a look?”

“Yes, while you get her to our home,” Enjolras agreed. He looked to Feuilly, who seemed stunned at the scene before him. “I think we will need those arrangements of yours, soon.”

“Save her life first,” Feuilly said finally. He picked up a shawl from a chair and tossed it to Dolores. “Please get dressed, Madame. We have a lot of explaining to do at your embassy.” 


	23. The Results of Neglect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for discussion of child neglect

Owing to the difficulty of finding fiacres in an impending rainstorm, it was some time before Eponine was able to get a vehicle to bring her and Ariadne to 9 Rue Guisarde. ‘ _I wouldn’t be surprised if Antoine is already with Joly at the house,’_ Eponine thought as she glanced out the window of the carriage, and back at Ariadne, who was sprawled across the seat.

As the fiacre jolted over a patch of bumpy ground, Ariadne groaned and stirred. “What happened?” she whimpered.

“We’re going to my house, to get you some help. You’re sick and you should rest,” Eponine said, moving to keep her from sitting up.

Ariadne nodded weakly. “Where’s my mother?”

Eponine bit her lip if only to keep from cursing at the mention of Dolores. “She’s going to the embassy,” she said after a moment. ‘ _The reason can wait,’_ she decided even as the carriage exited the Place Saint-Sulpice and made the last turn into the Rue Guisarde.

Just as she had predicted, Enjolras was already waiting at the door with a chair. “Joly is here and helping Neville clear a room, while Jacques has the younger ones in the study,” he informed Eponine as he went over to help carry Ariadne out of the fiacre. “They do not need to see this now.”

Eponine nodded as she seated the weak girl in the chair and tucked her coat around her. “Just lie back. We’ll get you upstairs,” she said as she lifted the chair’s front legs while Enjolras took hold of the back. In this fashion they slowly made their way into the house and up to the second floor. “Which room?” she asked Enjolras as she adjusted her grip on the chair.

“Neville’s. I put a spare mattress for him to sleep in Jacques’ room for the time being,” Enjolras said. “Where are Courfeyrac and Feuilly?”

“With her mother, going to the embassy,” Eponine replied in Occitan, remembering now that Ariadne had begun to pick up a little French. “Joly, I’m sorry we interrupted you on a weekend,” she greeted the physician who was setting out some medicines and other implements on a table beside a bed that had been hastily made up with fresh sheets. Most of Neville’s other belongings were piled up on his desk in one corner of the room, or gracing the bookshelves lining three out of four walls.

“There are no holidays with this profession,” Joly joked, but the urgency was clear in his serious expression as he quickly assisted them with moving Ariadne onto the bed so he could begin his examination. “Easy now, we’ll just have to cool your fever and get a good meal into you,” he reassured the girl when she groaned and screwed up her eyes.

Eponine unwrapped her coat from around Ariadne’s shoulders and tossed it to the floor. In the brighter light she realized that the girl was not only pale with hunger, but her eyes were dark from lack of sleep. “And some rest. I think they were out all night,” she muttered.

Just then Neville burst into the room, only to halt in his tracks as he caught sight of his sweetheart. “Ariadne! No, no. Why isn’t she waking up?” he cried as he bolted towards her, only to be stopped by Enjolras’ grabbing him by his shoulders. “Father, why won’t she wake up?”

“Joly will find out. Your outburst though will not do Citizenness Wright any good” Enjolras said sternly. “You need to compose yourself if you are to be of any help here.”

Neville shook his head, looking as if he would burst into tears. “How could I? How could any of you?” he blurted out.

“You learn,” Enjolras said under his breath, even as he gave Eponine a knowing look. “Excuse us,” he added, tightening his grip on Neville’s collar in order to half-drag him out of the sickroom.

Eponine sighed deeply as Enjolras shut the door behind him and Neville. “He’s right, but the difference is that Antoine keeps all this in and gets nightmares instead,” she remarked as she began to undo the fastenings on Ariadne’s dress. Under the gown, Ariadne was laced into an old corset that had already torn into the fabric of her chemise. “Did Dolores do these up when she was drunk?” Eponine asked as she tried to tug at the knots.

Ariadne gasped and wriggled uncomfortably. “I can’t—"

“Just cut it; a girl her age shouldn’t be tight lacing,” Joly said, handing a pair of scissors to Eponine. “Were you actually sleeping in that?”

Ariadne nodded weakly. “Mama said I should, to get used to it.”

“Your mother doesn’t sleep in hers, by the way. Nobody does,” Eponine hissed as she cut away the lacing till the corset fell away. As she helped Ariadne lie on her side to allow Joly to examine her with a stethoscope, she saw the threadbare and torn state of the girl’s chemise, revealing in some places how her ribs had begun to become prominent. ‘ _I think I looked twice as bad as this years ago when I got in from the street,’_ she thought as she pulled the blankets up to protect Ariadne’s modesty even as the girl began to breathe more easily.

After asking Ariadne a few more questions, Joly finally offered Eponine a cautious smile. “She doesn’t have any infection in her lungs or throat, nor does she seem to have any digestive upset. What she needs is plenty of rest, clean air, and a lot of nourishing food. A good wash would help her feel more comfortable too,” he said. “Will she stay here for the time being?”

Eponine nodded. “Till Feuilly makes arrangements with the British embassy or someone for her to be cared for. I’m not letting her go back to her mother.”

“Is that really possible?” Joly asked, rubbing his spectacles.

“I’ll do my best. She has no one else,” Eponine insisted, even as a knock sounded on the door. Much to her surprise Jacques stood there with a large basin of water and some washcloths. With him was Laure, who was holding a bowl of soup. “What’s all this for?”

“Father said you’d need these, or rather, Citizenness Wright will,” Jacques said. “Will she be well?” he asked, trying to peer into the room.

“I s’pose she will, _petit_ ,” Eponine said. “You can come in and bring the soup, Laure,” she added, looking at her daughter.

“I hope she likes it since it’s what Papa made for all our lunch,” Laure said.

‘ _It’s a lot better than his attempts from years ago,’_ Eponine thought as she stepped aside to let Laure bring the soup into the room. “Speaking of food, I s’pose I’ll make up a light pea soup tonight and some roast chicken. We’ll have a _cassoulet_ tomorrow,” she added, taking the water and washcloths from Jacques.

“A _cassoulet_? But that takes time!” Jacques sputtered.

“It’s mostly waiting for the stew to come right. Your father knows where to get the ingredients, so we can get started on that soon,” Eponine said. She glanced over to where Joly was helping Ariadne sit up so she could eat, all the while entertaining Laure’s questions. “Where are the rest of you boys?” she asked Jacques.

“Julien and Etienne are playing outside, while Neville is still sniveling and talking to Father about it,” Jacques said, rolling his eyes.

“Now don’t you laugh at him; you’ll have your turn with this sort of thing someday,” Eponine chided. Much to her surprise, the boy reddened and simply hung his head. “Or have you and I don’t know of it?” 

“It’s fine, I’ll just make sure we get what we need for dinner, Ponine,” Jacques mumbled, quickly beating a retreat.

Eponine set down the cloths and the basin even as she saw Laure climb onto the bed and flop onto her stomach, all the while chatting with Ariadne. “Don’t tire her out, _petite_. Uncle Joly said that Ariadne needs to rest,” she said to the little girl.

“She’s not tiring me out; I do like her company,” Ariadne said, her voice a little stronger now even as some color had returned to her cheeks.

Laure blew her hair out of her eyes. “If she’s staying here, does that mean you’re her _maman_ now too?” she asked Eponine.

“It doesn’t work that way, darling,” Eponine said, managing to keep a straight face.

“But it does! Grandma calls you her daughter sometimes because you are married to Papa, and if Ariadne marries Neville, that makes you and Papa her parents too,” Laure chirped.

Eponine choked even as Joly howled with laughter. “Now you know that Neville and Ariadne are too young to talk about being married now, _petite_ ,” Eponine managed to say, glancing towards Ariadne, who was staring into her bowl of soup.

“But you were young when you got married?” Laure asked confusedly.

“That was in a different time. Run along now,” Eponine said firmly. She felt her face redden even when Laure left, banging the door on her way out. “I was eighteen when I married,” she told Ariadne. “Now don’t get me wrong; I love my family and I do not regret having this whole pack of little ones. Still, I think that if I had gotten more of an education when I was that young, I would have waited a year or two before setting up house like this.”

“Mama was seventeen when she had me,” Ariadne mused softly.

“I think everything is in hand now, Eponine. I have left some medicine here for fever in case it should spike,” Joly said, looking up from packing his bag. “Everything will be fine, and don’t forget to take care of yourself too.”

Eponine nodded. “How can I ever repay you for this, my friend? I could send some _cassoulet_ over tomorrow when I am done cooking it.”

“I have some cases needing translation for an English colleague. I can bring them over for you when you have less on your mind.”

“I could manage any day. You won’t regret this, Joly.”

Joly smiled as he picked up his medical bag. “By the way I heard from Chetta, who heard from Nicholine, that you were at the atelier today. You’re getting a new dress made for that dinner on the 15th?”

“Yes, and don’t you tell anyone about it! You are coming too, aren’t you?” Eponine asked in a stage whisper.

“Good food, the company of excellent friends, and a perfect opportunity to honor someone. What more could I want?” Joly replied before tipping his hat to them and leaving the room.

Ariadne slurped the last of her soup before setting down the bowl on the bedside table. “I don’t have any of my things to wear. Can I send for them?”

“Later. I have some clean nightgowns you can wear in the meantime, after you wash a little,” Eponine said, quitting the room briefly to fetch one of these articles. She returned soon with a plain white gown, which she held up for Ariadne to inspect. “This might be a little long for you, but it should fall nicely.”

Ariadne reddened even as she shakily removed her torn chemise. “I don’t know why Neville even likes me. Mama says I am too plain and short to get a man,” she said.

“Well I knew a girl who was too tall for her age and was an ill-tempered fright at seventeen, and she ended up well enough,” Eponine quipped, showing her wedding ring. “If you don’t mind me asking, Ariadne, when was the last time you ate before today?”

“Right here, at this house?”

“And you’ve had nothing since?”

“My mother dragged me off to a party to dance, but how can one eat _and_ dance _and_ converse with gentlemen?” Ariadne complained. “Yesterday Mama said we would eat at a party, but she was admitted in with the gentlemen and I had to wait all night outside.”

“All night?”

“Someone gave me a place to wait at the servants’ quarters since it was warmer than the drawing room.”

‘ _If Courfeyrac and Feuilly heard of this, that would be another situation for Dolores to get investigated,’_ Eponine thought, gritting her teeth before she helped Ariadne sponge herself down with the cloths. After some coaxing, she was able to also wash the traces of cologne, grease, and other grime out of the girl’s hair. Within a half hour she had succeeded in getting Ariadne dressed and comfortably resting in bed, allowing her to steal out of the room with the basin, the cloths and the empty soup bowl.

When she arrived downstairs, she found Etienne napping in the living room while Julien was on the floor, reading a very thick book. “Papa, Neville, Jacques, and Laure went to the market,” the blond youngster reported. “They said it’s for that delicious soup tomorrow.”

“The more hands the better,” Eponine said. “What are you reading?”

“Something about these funny people in a place called Olympus,” Julien said, furrowing his brow. “Is Olympus real?”

‘ _He looks so much like Antoine when he does that,’_ Eponine thought mirthfully as she shook her head. “It’s only stories that some people who used to live in Greece and Rome used to believe,” she said, sitting beside the boy.

“They thought they were real?”

“Many years ago they did.”

“What do they believe now?”

“I s’pose most of them believe in God, or in something else.”

Julien furrowed his brow once more. “They didn’t go to church like we sometimes do?”

“They called it differently back then,” Eponine replied, even as a knock sounded on the front door. “Charlesette!” she greeted the woman who stepped in.

“The door was unlocked, and I thought I’d stop by just to apologize,” Charlesette said sheepishly. Although she was clad in one of her usual riding habits, her dark hair was worn down instead of pinned up and under a jaunty hat. “It was very rude of me to walk out of here just like that, even if I was very angry with Courfeyrac.”

“I can’t blame you. Most anyone would have if they were so upset,” Eponine answered as she got to her feet while Julien took the opportunity to scamper out of the room. “Have you spoken to him since?”

Charlesette shook her head. “I need to give myself maybe a day or two to figure out what I could say to him.” She sat down and rested her chin in her hands. “It’s not because of Armand. He’s a lovely boy. It’s just because I didn’t know about him sooner.”

“You said as much when you were here.”

“Was it because of his mother?”

Eponine nearly started at this question. “Why would you ask that?”

“I don’t know. I thought he was treasuring the memory of her or didn’t feel as if I could take her place,” Charlesette said, her tone almost plaintive. She swiped at her eyes, which were glimmering with tears. “Could you tell me about her?”

“About who?”

“Her name was Paulette, wasn’t it?”

The mention of her long-deceased friend’s name gave Eponine pause, more so when once more she saw before her mind’s eye another afternoon at the Rue de la Verrerie, an afternoon of blood and tears. ‘ _I should try to remember her differently,’_ she reminded herself as she looked at Charlesette again and nodded. “Paulette Vigny, but she was always just Paulette to me, Chetta and Claudine especially. She was born in Rouen but came up to Paris to work as a seamstress. And I think she was just twenty-one when it all happened.”

“Twenty-one! And how old was Courfeyrac then?”

“Twenty-five.”

Charlesette laughed. “Twenty-five and overstaying in Paris. Well, that is what they said back in Auch. But it was not because of her that he stayed here?”

Eponine shook her head. “At least I don’t think so; he and Paulette only began staying together after the revolution. I didn’t know either of them before that summer.”

“But what was Paulette like?” Charlesette pressed on. “She was pretty, wasn’t she?”

“Pretty as pretty does; I liked her hair actually, it was such a perfect color,” Eponine reminisced. “But she wasn’t the most beautiful among all of us; I’d have to give that to Cosette.”

“Was she also political?”

“Oh yes, she was. If it wasn’t for her, Chetta, and Claudine, I don’t think I would have been as involved in the campaign. She didn’t go about with us all the time since she was carrying Armand, but she definitely helped where she could.”

The older woman nodded slowly, as if taking these words in. “I think we might have been friends,” she said after a few moments. “But what happened to her?”

“She died giving birth to Armand,” Eponine bit her lip as she met Charlesette’s incredulous eyes. “Courfeyrac was there when it happened. He felt it deeply, and that was why he promised he would take care of Armand, first and foremost.”

“I see,” Charlesette said, swallowing hard. “They were in love then?”

“Paulette was, not Courfeyrac. I know, it’s surprising but that is what it was,” Eponine explained. “I don’t think she had any other lover, ever. As for him, well I s’pose you should ask him more about that.”

“Do you think he—” Charlesette began before trailing off as she shook her head. “I shall have to ask him myself,” she said as she stood up.

“If you don’t mind me giving a bit of advice, don’t take too long going about it,” Eponine clasped her friend’s arm. “It would do you both good.”

“How long is too long?“

“I s’pose that is up to you, but I would not take longer than a day.”

Charlesette nodded slowly. “I shall think it over too. Thank you for the advice, Eponine,” she said before heading out the door.


	24. Worshipful Intrigues

On most Sundays, it usually fell to Eponine to bring some or all of the youngsters to morning Mass at Saint-Sulpice, depending on a variety of matters such as weather, wellness, and disposition. ‘ _Perhaps not this time though,’_ Enjolras decided the next day when he woke up to find Eponine still fast asleep, with dark circles under her eyes. As he bent to kiss her forehead, he felt her stir and clasp his hand. “Eponine? How are you feeling?” he asked in her ear.

“Tired,” she mumbled, her voice cracked from weariness. “Had to check on Ariadne.”

“How many times?”

“Two. Her fever’s broken though.”

“That’s at least one good thing.” He adjusted the blanket around her before kissing her cheek. “Rest now.”

Eponine smiled into her pillow before curling up further. “Thank you, Antoine.”

‘ _We’ll need all the strength we can get for today,’_ Enjolras thought as he quickly washed up and got dressed. Apart from the usual rigmarole of chores and chaos synonymous with a Sunday at home, he and Eponine still had to worry about tending to their English guest and perhaps retrieving the girl’s belongings from the Rue Vaugirard. ‘ _I may have to ask help from Feuilly or perhaps Bahorel to make sure that the older Citizenness Wright does not cause an undue scene,’_ he noted as he quietly stepped out into the hallway.

When he checked in on the three younger children, he found Laure already fully dressed while Julien was trying to tie his boots. “Is Maman awake?” Laure asked by way of greeting.

“She needs some more rest, so I’ll be the one to go with you to church today,” Enjolras said, glancing to where Etienne was still also sound asleep in his own bed.

Julien looked at him quizzically. “Papa, why don’t you always go to church with us?”

“I believe in other ways of praying, _petit_.”

“But the priests say we have to pray in church.”

“Not every person in the world goes to church, but that does not make them wrong,” Enjolras pointed out, knowing better than to explain at length anything about liberty of worship or conscience. ‘ _This will be something they will all have to decide on when they are older, without my advice or Eponine’s,’_ he reminded himself as he went to check on Jacques and Neville.

In the next room, Jacques was still snoring loudly, completely oblivious to his older brother’s absence. Enjolras shook his head before quitting the room to knock on the guest room and open the door a crack. ‘ _As expected,’_ he thought, seeing Neville dozing in a chair, with his head pillowed right next to Ariadne’s feet on the bed.

Neville stirred and raised his head slightly. “It’s morning already?” he asked croakily.

Enjolras nodded. “You’d better get up before your brothers find you here,” he said in Occitan before quietly shutting the door. He turned around only to find Laure and Julien standing a few feet away, watching him intently. “We have to let them all sleep too,” he informed them.

Laure scratched her arm. “Do the English also go to church too?”

“Yes, but their churches are different from ours. You should probably ask your mother or even Neville about those,” Enjolras said as he guided the two youngsters down the stairs. After a hurried breakfast of bread and milk, they hurried to the Church of Saint-Sulpice, arriving just as the bells were heralding the beginning of the Mass.

Owing to the rather large crowd of mass-goers, it took some time for Enjolras to find three seats near the south transept. Here, some large columns partially obscured one’s view of the altar, and some areas were partially left in shadow, untouched by the brilliant light streaming through the stained-glass windows. Enjolras seated the two youngsters nearer where they had a view of the Mass, while he contented himself with simply listening to the liturgy. Even if he did not particularly care for the substance of the Roman Rite, much less for the homilies of its priests, the solemnity and power of the Mass’ hymns still evoked a feeling of radiance in his being. ‘ _Perhaps if angels do exist, their words would be more ineffable than this,’_ the thought occurred to him even as he suddenly caught sight of a pair of figures deep in discussion in the transept’s shadowed corner.

“Why of all places are we meeting here, in a church?” a man asked in a nervous but sibilant tone. “There is a Mass going on!”

“Because the people you ought to worry about do not attend, so I have heard,” a more guttural voice replied, in almost unintelligible French. This figure was wearing a large hat, with his coat collar turned up. “Have you got the papers with you?”

“Some. The rest I fear are lost.”

“ _Mein Gott!”_

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he watched the two men gesture back and forth for a few minutes before one handed over a package. ‘ _They must take everyone for fools to pass documents here,’_ he thought even as he got up with the rest of the congregation after the Homily. Just as he suspected, one of these men now began making his way towards the rear of the church. ‘ _And an even bigger fool to exit now,’_ he thought, taking a step forward.

Suddenly Laure tugged his hand. “Papa? Where are you going?”

“Just taking a look at something, _petite_ ,” Enjolras answered under his breath. Even without turning around he could already feel several eyes trained on his back, and more importantly on his two children. ‘ _Hopefully Bahorel or Gavroche is on duty at the Prefecture today,’_ he thought as he knelt for the Consecration, all the while keeping his eyes trained on the one agent who had not left the church. This mysterious man only left his seat with the rest of the congregation to line up at the communion rail, but did not return to the transept for the remainder of the Mass.

As the recessional music began to play, Enjolras had to quickly grab Julien by his coattails before he could dash out of the church. “Stay in sight,” he admonished the child, taking the additional precaution of holding on to him with one hand while hanging on to Laure with the other. As they made their way towards the church’s exit, he caught sight of a couple walking towards one of the side chapels. ‘ _Ah yes, they go to Mass here too,’_ he thought, deftly pulling away the youngsters before Celestine Gillenormand and Thenardier could look their way.

It was at that moment however that Celestine Gillenormand stopped in her tracks and glanced scornfully at Enjolras and the children. “It is a mortal sin to take the Sacrament without being in a state of grace, Monsieur,” she said, turning up her nose.

“Clearly your eyes have beheld more than just the heavens, Citizenness,” Enjolras answered coolly. He raised an eyebrow as all color drained from Celestine Gillenormand’s face. “Come on, let’s go,” he said to Laure and Julien.

“What, and leave just like that?” Thenardier asked. He grinned at the youngsters. “Come now, chicks, greet your grandfather.”

Laure and Julien exchanged looks. “Get behind me,” Laure mouthed to her brother, who immediately complied. She shook her head before looking at Enjolras. “Papa?”

“A simple ‘good day’ will suffice,” Enjolras said, nodding curtly to the older pair. “Have a restful Sunday,” he added as he scooped up Julien with one arm, and took Laure’s free hand in his own to bring them out of the church.

By the time they arrived back at the Rue Guisarde, the rest of the household was up and about. “What’s for breakfast?” Julien called cheerily as he ran into the front hall.

“Ponine got us some brioche and croissants! Run faster if you want some!” Jacques shouted from the dining room.

Enjolras paused to take off his hat and his coat before following his two children into the dining room. Here he found Jacques and Etienne already tucking into plates piled high with bread, heedless of the smears of jam and butter covering their faces. Neville was eating more sedately, looking more rested than a few hours before. The older boy nodded to Enjolras and pointed upstairs. “Ponine is sitting up with her.”

“I see,” Enjolras said as he headed upstairs towards the sound of laughter and chatter coming from their temporary guest room.

Before he could knock on the door, Eponine stepped out and nearly started on seeing him. “You’re just exactly who I wanted to see,” she greeted before pulling him down for a deep kiss. “Thank you for bringing them today, Antoine,” she whispered against his lips when they pulled away for some much-needed air.

Enjolras placed his hands on her waist to pull her flush against him. He met her smile as he rested his forehead against hers. “How are you feeling now?” he asked in a low voice.

“Much better, with a little rest,” Eponine replied as she began to wind his hair around her fingers. “Ariadne is also feeling somewhat healthier too. She should be right up and on her feet in a day or two,” she added, gesturing to the bedroom behind her.

“By that time Feuilly should have made some arrangements for her with the British embassy,” Enjolras said, making a mental note to also follow up with his friend on this matter. “That will decide if we will still proceed on the trip to Vernon this week.”

Eponine bit her lip. “I do wish we could both go; we never get to travel together on anything that is unrelated to a mission. I know that Cosette would definitely arrange for all the children to stay at the Marais while we are away, but it will be too much to expect her to also care for Ariadne.”

“Indeed. How do you wish to resolve it?”

“I s’pose if we have to pick, you should be the one to go to Vernon.”

“Aren’t your translation skills also needed for this venture?”

“Marius is there to manage the language, but he, Cosette, and I suspect Bossuet too will need you to manage the politics.”

“As he has said so before,” Enjolras remarked, idly tracing the line of Eponine’s back with his fingers, feeling her quiver slightly under his hand. “What else did you have planned for today?”

“Making a clean copy of that book I translated; I brought the original up here for Ariadne to read and meditate on since there’s no church for her here nearby.”

“Speaking of churches, I saw your father and Citizenness Gillenormand at Mass. They tried to also speak with Laure and Julien, but we left immediately.”

Eponine rolled her eyes knowingly even as she draped her arms around his shoulder “He might think he could scare you off, but I don’t think we should stop going about our own neighborhood just because we might run into him.”

“I do believe however that Citizenness Gillenormand has been hearing Mass there longer than both you and I have been alive,” Enjolras pointed out. “All the same, you are in the right of it.”

“Of course I am,” Eponine quipped. “Was that all?”

“Why do you ask?”

“You never pay attention during sermons.”

He smirked knowingly as he ran a thumb over her cheek. “I will have to stop by the Prefecture today, just to report on something.”

“Oh?”

“It would have to do with LeClerc’s investigation.”

“Do be careful, Antoine. I don’t like that LeClerc nearly got pinched on our street. Not even Patron-Minette was that brazen.” She bit her lip once more as she clasped his hands. “I s’pose now that you mention it, I should go to the Prefecture too.”

“What for?”

“I may need help getting Ariadne’s things back from her mother. I went up to speak with her about it, and she gave me a list. The poor girl doesn’t have very much to begin with. We can go now, so I can get the _cassoulet_ started when we get back.”

“Why did you choose to cook a _cassoulet_ , out of all things?” Enjolras wondered even as they now headed downstairs to the front hall.

“I’ve heard it’s nice and hearty, and it will definitely get Ariadne back on her feet,” Eponine explained as she began putting on her hat and her coat. She paused just as Neville and Jacques trooped into the room, carrying Julien and Etienne on their shoulders while Laure hopped alongside them. “Your father and I just have to make a quick visit. We’ll be back soon, but if your Uncle Joly comes by then let him in so he can check on Ariadne,” she told them.

Enjolras buttoned up his coat even as he now saw out of the corner of his eye that Neville had set down Julien and was now tiptoeing towards the stairs. “By the way, let Citizenness Wright have some rest,” he deadpanned. “Doctor’s orders until further notice.”

Neville sighed deeply. “But what if she wants me around?”

“She’ll ask for help if she needs it, but I will not have any of you pestering her in her room,” Enjolras said more sternly as he finished buttoning up his coat. “Do I make myself clear?”

Neville nodded even as the rest murmured. “We’ll behave.”

“Thank you,” Eponine chimed in, adjusting her hat before taking Enjolras’ arm while they headed out the door to find a fiacre to take them to the Rue de Pontoise.

When they arrived at the Prefecture, Bahorel was waiting by the door with a cigar. “Right on time, both of you,” he greeted them with a grin. “Feuilly told me to expect you here. He had quite the debacle at the British Embassy yesterday.”

“Oh no. What happened?” Eponine asked.

“Citizenness Wright made quite a plea for herself with the ambassador, but Courfeyrac and Feuilly had their eyewitness testimonies as well as that letter from the French ambassador to England,” Bahorel said as he lit up his cigar. “Citizenness Wright will be put under the custody of the embassy to await further proceedings, but her daughter will be allowed to seek asylum here in France only owing to the absence of any relatives or guarantors in London. I heard the girl is staying at your home?”

“Temporarily. We will find a more appropriate arrangement for her,” Enjolras answered.

“In the meantime, there’s the problem of getting her niceties and belongings, and that is why you have me,” Bahorel said before blowing a puff of smoke. “We’d better get there before Citizenness Wright starts squirreling away things.”

“One moment, Bahorel,” Enjolras said, clasping his friend’s shoulder. “There is an important matter that I also need to bring to your attention.”

“Does this have to do with Citizen LeClerc and his papers?”

“I believe so.”

Bahorel sighed before motioning towards the building’s entryway. He wordlessly conducted his friends to his office, and sat down at his desk. “Those papers were incendiary; Citizen LeClerc should have returned them right away, but it is good that we know something of the situation within the German Confederacy,” he began. “Unless there have been further developments?”

“I saw a document drop off today at Saint-Sulpice,” Enjolras said. “The giver spoke French: he was about as tall as Courfeyrac, with brown straight hair and a flat nose. I did not get close enough to see his eye color or other distinguishing features. The receiver was definitely German of some sort, and his hat and collar muffled his features. He was however about as tall as you are, and moved with a sort of halting walk, but that might have just been an affectation.”

Bahorel nodded as he began taking notes. “This was during the morning mass?”

“Yes.”

“Where did he go after Mass?”

“I could not follow him; I had the children with me,” Enjolras said, glancing momentarily at Eponine. “I was not about to follow him and leave them exposed to harm.”

Eponine sighed deeply as she buried her face in her hands. “I am sure he wasn’t alone, Antoine. We’ll have to be a little more careful now around Saint-Sulpice, and that’s not just because of my father.”

“Spies won’t use the same drop-off twice. But if this is related to Citizen LeClerc’s being stabbed a stone’s throw away from your home, you will need to be vigilant,” Bahorel advised. “Their lair is likely to be not far from where you live.”

‘ _Every city has its own secrets,’_ Enjolras thought as he discreetly reached for Eponine’s hand and felt her clammy fingers wrap around his. “Any other precautions we have to take?” he asked.

“Your children have to be careful about who they let into the house, or even who meets them at school or other places,” Bahorel added. He cracked his knuckles as he pocketed his notes. “Now let us conclude this business with the Englishwoman.”

The prospect of witnessing another scene with Dolores Wright was enough to make Enjolras’ stomach twist, but he merely gritted his teeth as they left the Prefecture. Bahorel readily flagged down a carriage to take them to the Rue Vaugirard, where they arrived within half an hour. “The windows are closed. That might mean she is still away,” Enjolras remarked as they stepped out of the fiacre.

Eponine shook her head. “Asleep is more like it. I will rouse her up quick, and you can come up in five minutes,” she said before doffing her hat and dashing into the apartment building.

Bahorel looked worriedly at Eponine and then at Enjolras. “Last I heard, Citizenness Wright was not the calmest character,” he remarked under his breath.

“Nor is she particularly steady on her feet,” Enjolras pointed out, even as the sound of dragging furniture came from upstairs. ‘ _Then again desperation does unusual things,’_ he thought as he now rushed into the building.

Enjolras ran up to the third floor, two steps at a time. He arrived to the sight of Eponine leaning against the doorjamb of Dolores’ apartment, watching with a bored expression as the Englishwoman paced and tossed around things, all the while shouting and stamping her feet. “What is happening?” Enjolras asked Eponine in an undertone.

“She’s angry that she’s being asked to remove nearer the embassy,” Eponine whispered.

“Without her daughter?”

“I’m waiting for her to say something, anything to that!”

Dolores stopped in the middle of her pacing and turned to look at Enjolras. “You! Have you any idea how much of a _cad_ that friend of yours is?” she screeched. “No gentleman would ever pay so much attention to a lady and leave her lying flat the way he did!”

“I recall it rather differently, Citizenness, for it was _you_ paying him especial attention in his office,” Enjolras deadpanned. He glanced over his shoulder to where Bahorel was now walking up to them. “We have an agent of the Prefecture with us, who will make sure we can retrieve your daughter’s belongings and restore them to her.”

“Retrieve her things, what for?” Dolores sputtered.

“She is staying with us,” Eponine hissed indignantly. “Or have you forgotten?”

Dolores blinked and shook her head. “That scene yesterday! Well is she doing fine?”

“She’s ill and she would have been in a far worse condition by now if we didn’t think to stop in yesterday,” Eponine retorted. “I cannot believe you do not recall it!”

“I never know what to believe with that girl and her hysterics,” Dolores huffed.

“I know the difference between hysterics and actual neglect,” Eponine shot back, standing now with her hands akimbo. “The last time I saw anyone in such a terrible condition was when I saw _myself_ in a mirror nine years ago, when I’d just come off the street!”

‘ _She looked far worse,’_ Enjolras thought, recalling now the sight of Eponine in bloodied clothes that were too large for her, nearly insensible with pain and desperation as she lay on the muddied ground of the barricade. He blinked away the memory even as he went to stand at his wife’s side. “Might I remind you, Citizenness Wright, that you must cooperate with us,” he said to Dolores more sternly.

It was only at that moment that Dolores now paled. “Where will she go?”

“Not with you, that is for sure,” Eponine said, now marching into the apartment. She brought a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and bit her lip. “It’s just some of her gowns, her chemises, and her one good pair of shoes. These won’t be enough for a week.”

Dolores shook her head as she collapsed on the sofa. “You’re removing my daughter from my care! And to think you are a mother too, why would you do that?”

“Because I _am_ a mother. And I had one too, but she would never have let me go as badly as you let yours,” Eponine fumed.

“You’ve heard her, Citizenness,” Bahorel now chimed in. “If I recall, you have your own packing to do as well, so let us get this started.”


	25. Time Needed for Fruition

“Is this all I have?”

“I am sorry, Ariadne, but many of your things were in disrepair. We’ll help you get some new dresses and chemises, even new shoes and a corset as well.”

Ariadne looked down despondently at the three chemises, two dresses, and one pair of shoes that Eponine had managed to retrieve from the Rue Vaugirard, and now presented to her after lunch. “But won’t it be expensive?” she asked tersely, gathering a blanket more tightly around her shoulders.

“We’ll manage it,” Eponine said reassuringly. She bit her lip as she saw Ariadne now wadding up the blanket in her slender hands. ‘ _This was probably how Claudine felt when we first met,’_ she realized, remembering now the awkward morning she’d been introduced to her friend. “It won’t be all at once, we’ll start with the most necessary things then work up to something nicer,” she added.

“How?”

“I s’pose it’s just as well we live near some very good seamstresses.”

The girl managed a slight smile. “Did one of them make that nice blue dress you gave me?”

“Yes. I didn’t see it in the apartment though?” Eponine observed.

“My mother said it was too plain, and I never saw it again after that day,” Ariadne confessed. “I am so sorry for losing it.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Eponine pointed out, now feeling anew a frisson of irritation against Ariadne’s mother. ‘ _It’s just as well that just as we were about to leave, the British embassy attaches also arrived to send Dolores packing,’_ she thought even as she watched Ariadne quietly fold the clothes and place the shoes to the side of the bed. “When you feel better, you should join us downstairs,” she offered.

“I won’t be getting in the way?”

“Of course not.”

Ariadne nodded slowly, clearly trying to take in these words. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“I s’pose you should rest a little. You can holler if you need anything,” Eponine said even as someone knocked on the door. “Neville, have you finished your assignments?” she called.

“Yes, and Father said I could sit up here as long as I didn’t lock the door,” Neville greeted, peering in with an abashed look on his face that turned into a smile when he locked eyes with Ariadne. “I thought I’d be here, since I have to be at work tomorrow after my classes and I’ll be back only by dinner. That is, if you’re not tired?”

“I never am, when you’re around,” Ariadne said, returning his smile.

“And I’ll leave you to it,” Eponine quipped, getting to her feet to leave the room. As she stepped out, she breathed in deeply the aromas of herbs and cooked salted meats. ‘ _One more hour for that part of the cassoulet to be done,’_ she thought as she took a detour to the kitchen, just in time to see Laure and Julien pushing a chair over towards the stove. “Don’t even think about it, you two,” she warned them.

Laure stopped in her tracks while Julien nearly stumbled. “We want to see what smells so good, Maman,” Laure replied cheekily.

“Not even a peep. Opening a pot over and over again is not how a _cassoulet_ is cooked,” Eponine reprimanded. 

“It’s only going to be once!”

“That is one time too many for cooking, _petite_. You wait, and we’ll have a good dinner.”

“How am we supposed to wait if the smell is making us hungry?” Julien protested.

“That’s part of the fun of it,” Eponine said, ushering the two children out of the kitchen and depositing them in the living room, where Enjolras was reading through a folio while Jacques and Etienne were playing with marbles. ‘ _Which leaves me to work alone,’_ she decided as she went into the study to finish recopying the translation she’d made. Once she was done she went to the kitchen to take the first stew off the stove, and then set it aside while she made another stew from some preserved goose. “Now on to the next thing!” she whispered before ensconcing herself once more in the study.

Eponine made sure the door was locked before she sat down at her desk and brought out a stack of envelopes as well as a list of names of their friends and other prominent personalities in Paris. “This isn’t just a testimonial dinner, it’s a banquet,” she mused aloud as she began addressing the invitations. In the past years this event had been limited to the lawyers of the Palais de Justice, their families and close associates, as well as a few guests of honor. ‘ _But since it’s Antoine, everyone wants to turn out in full force, and these invites are really just a formality_ ,’ she thought as she carefully set the labeled envelopes out to dry, even as she now went to take the goose stew off the stove and start up another pork stew as part of the _cassoulet_.

As she put this third stew on the stove, she suddenly heard the chatter and cheers that almost always accompanied the unexpected arrival of any family friend. ‘ _What’s brought Courfeyrac back here today?’_ she wondered as she walked out into the living room just in time to see Armand dash by with Laure, Julien, and Etienne in some game of theirs. In the meantime, Enjolras was talking intently with Courfeyrac as the latter was hanging up his coat. “Have you come here for some _cassoulet?”_ she greeted jokingly.

“If it can drive away melancholy,” Courfeyrac said. Although he was as impeccably groomed as ever, it did not do anything to distract from his dispirited mien. “Have you spoken with Charlesette lately?” he asked, his tone one of mingled pain and hope.

“She was here yesterday,” Eponine answered.

Courfeyrac took a deep breath and hung his head. “Is she still angry with me?”

“A little less than before, but I s’pose she would have preferred to hear about Paulette from you instead of from everyone else,” Eponine remarked.

“You _told_?”

“It is not that difficult for anyone to find the truth, especially since a good many in our circle still remember Citizenness Vigny,” Enjolras pointed out. He pinched the bridge of his nose before he looked at Courfeyrac more seriously. “As I was saying, a straightforward discussion with Citizenness Karolyn would be beneficial, and would perhaps end this ill-feeling.”

“This isn’t something that can be simply talked out, Enjolras. Not with her,” Courfeyrac retorted in anguish. “I never thought I’d see her so angry with anyone, especially me. I don’t know what to do about it, and I’ve been asking our friends for some ideas. I wanted to ask Prouvaire for help, but he’s rather busy with Azelma. Combeferre is with a patient so I could not ask him for help either. Joly suggested I throw myself at Charlesette’s feet _literally_ to ask for forgiveness. Bahorel suggested something with wine and—”

“There are children present, and we get the picture,” Enjolras said, holding up a hand. “Those are preludes to what actually has to be discussed between you two. It would be best not to confound the matter with undue overtures, especially with someone who prefers to be spoken with very directly.”

“It doesn’t quite change the fact that Charlesette is still angry, and may need time to sort things through,” Eponine pointed out. She bit her lip as she saw Courfeyrac hang his head once again.“I s’pose that writing a letter might do those two things: let you have it out and give her the time she needs too.”

“What if she does not write back or wish to meet me?”

“Then that’s the answer you have, but you can’t force it from her.”

Courfeyrac let out a ragged breath. “If only it was that simple.” He glanced to where his son was playing with the other children. “I’ll have to do some thinking as to how I will go about it. Can Armand stay here for a few hours, maybe have some of that _cassoulet_?” he asked.

“Take the time you need,” Enjolras said, clapping his friend’s back before walking him to the door. As he closed the door, he looked knowingly at Eponine. “She knows?”

Eponine shrugged. “You can see that she’s neither blind nor stupid.”

“Indeed. This is serious.”

“Because you’ve never seen Courfeyrac in this state before?”

Enjolras nodded slowly. “That may be so, but we shall see how this will turn out for both of them,” he said. “If I know our old friend well, he will win the day,” he added more softly.

“You really think so?” Eponine asked, stepping forward to close the distance between them.

“I hope it will be the case,” Enjolras said, tracing a line down Eponine’s cheek.

Eponine felt a shiver of delight course down her spine even as she saw him take a step towards the study. ‘ _No, we can’t have that,’_ she thought, remembering what she still had setting out to dry on the desk. She looked him in the eye as she clasped his hand and brought it down to her waist. “Let’s take this upstairs, Antoine.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow curiously. “Weren’t you cooking something?”

“It’s got a few hours left to stew anyway,” she whispered before pulling him down for a kiss while guiding him to the stairs.


	26. Plans Divulged

After such a tumultuous weekend, Enjolras knew better than to expect that the coming Monday would be peaceful at the Palais de Justice. ‘ _It would appear that the clerks made it their business to fill every courtroom and meeting room just for today,’_ he mused at the conclusion of an early morning hearing, where he’d been the prosecutor. Even as he received thanks from his client and crossed the courtroom to shake hands with the opposing attorney, he could already see a crowd gathering outside the courtroom, eager for the next trial. “Citizens, this was well met. We can discuss this further some other time,” he said hurriedly as he gathered up his papers.

“Busy as always aren’t you, Citizen Enjolras?” a colleague quipped. “You always seem to need more than twenty-four hours in a day!”

“That has always been the case,” Enjolras muttered under his breath before he headed upstairs to his office. As he arrived in the hallway, he caught sight of a tall auburn-haired figure walking ahead of him, carrying several envelopes. “I didn’t know you had something to drop off here at the Palais de Justice, Eponine,” he greeted with a smirk.

Eponine stopped in her tracks and quickly turned to face him. “I thought you were still at your hearing, Antoine,” she said lightly as she went to him. Her hair was pinned up as usual, and she was in one of her fancier work dresses. “Your door was closed.”

“That is true, but it is unusual for you to be here,” Enjolras pointed out, catching her with one hand on her waist just so he could lead her into his office. He locked the door before motioning for her to take the more comfortable seat in the office while he remained standing while leaning against his desk, taking care not to disturb the papers he had spread out there. “Who is watching Etienne and Ariadne now?”

“Musichetta is there; it’s her day off from the atelier,” Eponine replied, quickly tucking the envelopes beside her.

“Ah,” Enjolras glanced at the envelopes and met her eyes again, only to have her avert her gaze. “You could have asked for my assistance with bringing any documents here,” he said, crossing his arms. 

Eponine bit her lip before finally meeting his eyes with a guilty look. “I s’pose you caught me, Antoine. How did you guess?” she asked, raising her chin.

“You provided a very interesting distraction so I would not enter the study yesterday,” he deadpanned. Even just looking at her was enough to evoke the recollection of their tryst the day before, especially the heat of her mouth on his as her hands moved over his body. Judging by the blush that crept to her cheeks, she was clearly visualizing something in the same vein. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

Eponine’s cheeks reddened further even as she began removing her gloves. “It was supposed to be a surprise, that’s why I kept you out of the study.” She picked up the envelopes to show her clear and smooth handwriting on each of the missives. “These are invites for that big testimonial dinner that you lawyers have every year.”

“What about it?”

“This year, it’s for you.”

Enjolras’ jaw dropped as he took in these words. “This isn’t seemly or appropriate, Eponine,” he said after a moment. “I would rather it not be so.”

Eponine laughed even as she set aside the envelopes and then caught his hands in hers. “You never used to have a problem before with it, when it was our friend Bamatabois who was honored two years ago, or when it was any other lawyer! Why shouldn’t it be you?”

“I do not see anything wrong with affirmation in itself, but the idea of a dinner solely for this purpose misses the fact that all of _this_ is not a single man’s effort alone,” he pointed out. He frowned at the recollection of some of these events over the previous years; while some of his colleagues such as Jerome Bamatabois were gracious with receiving praise, there were a number who reveled in it as if they had been expecting it as their due for years of service. Somehow, subjecting himself to this onslaught of adulation seemed perverse as well as daunting. “We’re lawyers for the people, not for our own vainglory,” he said tersely.

“It isn’t wrong to give others a chance to publicly thank you. That’s how I see it, Antoine,” she answered, running her rough fingers over his own callused ones. Her smile was conspiratorial yet soft as she leaned in towards him. “And I think it’s perfectly fine for everyone to know of the wonderful things you have done.”

The earnestness in Eponine’s voice sent heat rising to Enjolras’ cheeks, more so when he looked at her. “Eponine---” he trailed off as she stood up to put a finger on his lips.

“It’s how _I_ see you,” she whispered. “I always have, and always will.”

“Till now, you say the oddest things,” he remarked, looking at her keenly even as he took her hand and then pressed his lips to her palm. “I thought these things were only for the two of us to know?” he asked in a low voice.

“Not with us,” Eponine said breathlessly . “Not with how we always get into things, and how everyone loves to see what we do. I want everyone to know _why_ I see you this way.”

“You have the right of it,” he said, touching her cheek with his thumb. Even though his own desire was building, especially with the possibility of their being caught in his office, he could also feel his anxiety about the dinner beginning to dissipate. ‘ _From her it is never false praise,’_ he thought as he touched his forehead to hers, feeling himself more able to breathe easily.

It was all the impetus Eponine needed to close the distance between him with a hard kiss on his mouth. He returned her kiss eagerly, bringing one hand up to the back of her neck while the other gripped her waist more tightly. She gasped as she began running her hands through his hair, holding him to her tightly as they continued to kiss, heedless of the hustle and bustle outside. As they came up for air, he took the opportunity to lift her onto his desk, eliciting a surprised laugh from her. “Antoine, really?” she giggled, winding his curls around her fingers.

“The view here is better.” He cupped her chin gently, just to get a better look at her swollen lips and the way her eyes were dark with mischief and arousal. “How is it you always seem to make things much simpler?” he asked raggedly.

“I s’pose that is why we work so well together,” she quipped.

“Perhaps.” Enjolras kissed her again more slowly, first on her brow and then on her eyes, reveling in her gasps and moans that he soon muffled with his mouth on hers. He gripped her waist and moved his hands slowly over the curve of her hips, feeling her shiver with delight against him. He breathed in sharply as her fingers nimbly moved down his neck and shoulders to begin unbuttoning his coat, and then undo the knot of his cravat. He closed his eyes even as her lips now descended over where her hands had been moments earlier, only to suddenly feel her put some pressure on the skin near his throat. “Damn it, Eponine!”

Eponine smiled innocently as she raised her head. “Are you really going to kiss me with that mouth, Antoine?”

“I recall you being just as verbose yesterday in our room” he pointed out before kissing her again to prove his point. Even as he began to return the favor by beginning to work her hairpins loose, he heard a knock on the door. “Of all times…” he muttered, pulling away.

Eponine frowned as another knock sounded on the door. “Doesn’t everyone else go to lunch after hearings? Who else is still even on this floor?” she whispered furtively.

“Enjolras? I know you’re in there,” Feuilly called from outside. “Is Eponine with you?”

‘ _Probably more updates from the diplomats,’_ Enjolras thought as he picked up his cravat and retied it. “Later?” he asked as he watched Eponine also smoothing out her hair and her dress.

Eponine laughed before reaching over to adjust his cravat such that the knot was situated a little higher than he would have normally set it. “ _This_ is for you and me to know,” she quipped, kissing him teasingly before she seated herself more primly in a chair.

Enjolras crossed the room to unlock the door, only to find Feuilly as well as Combeferre standing out in the hall with amused grins on their faces. “My apologies if we kept you waiting for too long,” he greeted.

“Not at all,” Combeferre said knowingly. “There is a new friend of ours who has news for both of you,” he added as he stepped aside to let a dark-haired woman come forward.

Enjolras paused as he realized who was before him. “Welcome again to Paris, Citizenness Calamy,” he greeted cordially. “Is the Admiral with you?”

“Not yet, for reasons I will explain shortly,” Victoria Calamy said. The woman seemed mostly unchanged since he had last seen her in Marseille, except for something more careworn about the way she spoke. “Is it fine if we all talk inside?” she asked.

“Certainly,” Enjolras said, stepping aside to let Combeferre and Feuilly into the room even as Eponine rushed up to greet Victoria with a warm hug amid many exclamations. “What is afoot?” he asked Combeferre in an undertone as he closed the office door.

“It would appear that Ariadne Wright will not be our only English friend staying here in Paris indefinitely or even for good,” Combeferre replied.

“That is one way to state it,” Victoria sighed as she took a seat. The English matron wrung her hands as she looked first at Eponine and then the men. “I am sure you have heard that the trials for Lord Griffiths and Lord Blakeney commenced, and they were both found guilty of conspiring with foreign agents and undue interference. Not everyone agreed with the verdict. You must also know that I have severed my ties with the British intelligence service.”

Eponine winced. “I doubt that Dr. Maturin was happy with that.”

“He is in Ireland even as we speak,” Victoria said grimly. “My husband and I have felt it would be safer for us to seek asylum here in France. We have sold our assets, and the Admiral is obtaining his discharge from the service. We do not intend to ever return.”

“Won’t you be missed by your family?” Eponine asked worriedly. 

“Our children are grown and will not be threatened for as long as we are no longer in England,” Victoria’s expression was rueful as she stopped wringing her hands. “There are worse things than exile, such as coming home as a traitor.”

‘ _They may be viewed as such in some quarters anyway,’_ Enjolras realized. “Is there any way we can assist you or Admiral Calamy?” he asked.

“I will let you know; I have already set up house in the neighborhood of the Invalides. I also have Mrs. Williamson and some friends from the embassy assisting me,” Victoria replied with a slight smile. “There is something that I could help you out with however.”

“That would be?” Eponine asked.

“Mrs. Williamson told me when I arrived that the very well-known Dolores Wright has gotten into some difficulties here in Paris, leaving her daughter quite stranded. Citizen Feuilly has told me that the girl needs a guardian, and with the embassy’s leave I will be more than up to the task,” Victoria said with a smile. “Only of course if that poor child agrees.”

“She hardly has any other option,” Feuilly pointed out. “Inasmuch as she is comfortable convalescing at your home, that situation was meant to be temporary,” he said, looking at Enjolras and Eponine.

“Indeed, for lack of space,” Enjolras remarked, glancing knowingly at Eponine. “This move will commence of course once young Citizenness Wright is in a better condition?”

“I will confer with Joly about that today,” Combeferre said. “This afternoon if possible.”

“Then that’s well, since you all can come back with me to the Rue Guisarde and I can introduce Victoria here to Ariadne,” Eponine said. She looked at Enjolras wryly. “We’ll have to break this gently to the children, as they have come to enjoy her company very much.”

‘ _Meaning I will have to deal with Neville,’_ Enjolras thought, already imagining how he would have to talk to the boy after he returned from his part-time work. “Tonight then.”

Victoria rolled her eyes. “Of course, young Neville is welcome to visit; I am not running a convent or jail for Miss Wright! I was under the impression though that he and Jacques were your brothers, but at the embassy they were spoken of as having the surname ‘Enjolras’ instead of ‘Thenardier’?” she queried.

“They are my brothers by birth, and until a few weeks ago they were my brothers under the law,” Eponine explained. “But for their sake, since my husband helped me raise them, we all decided that it would be better for them to have his surname and all that comes with it.” 

The older woman nodded slowly. “That is an interesting, and rare arrangement.”

“But not unheard of,” Feuilly muttered. The diplomat’s eyebrows shot up as he saw the envelopes that Eponine had left on the chair she had occupied earlier. “Are those---”

“The invitations,” Eponine admitted sheepishly. “Yes, he knows about the dinner. He figured it out somewhat yesterday,” she added, gesturing to Enjolras.

Feuilly scratched his head. “How?”

“That is for us to know and the rest of you to guess,” Enjolras deadpanned, giving Eponine a sidelong glance that had her hiding her face in her hands. “Who else is in on it?” he asked Combeferre and Feuilly in a level tone.

“All of us, and most of the Palais de Justice,” Feuilly replied. “Also the diplomatic corps, in honor of what happened this summer.”

“Even other friends from the legislature have been invited,” Combeferre said, wincing as he looked at his best friend. “I am sorry, Enjolras. I know you do not like surprises.”

“Nevertheless, the sentiment behind it is appreciated,” Enjolras answered, clasping Combeferre and Feuilly by their shoulders.

“It’s a relatively new practice for the lawyers to throw a dinner in honor of an attorney or magistrate who has performed well or who has done something extraordinary in the past year,” Eponine explained to Victoria. “It’s usually decided by more senior members of the Palais de Justice as well as a popular vote. You and the Admiral should come and join us. It’s going to be in two weeks, on the 15th.”

“I shall have to see, especially when my husband arrives,” Victoria said. “I will let you know at the soonest possible time if we can attend.”

Combeferre glanced at his watch. “I shall have to confer with Joly about Citizenness Wright the younger’s case. Hopefully he is at the Rue Ferou and not at the Bourbe today.”

“I shall accompany you,” Feuilly said. “Will you be here all afternoon?” he asked Enjolras.

“Yes, I have the Spanish to deal with,” Enjolras replied, gesturing to a pile of papers to one side of the table. ‘ _At least this time I can make some sense of the originals instead of relying solely on translations,’_ he thought as he surveyed once more the size of this stack and then looked to where Eponine was donning her gloves.

Feuilly nodded to Enjolras. “Good luck with your writing today. You will like what I have written regarding the privileges of emerging states and states seeking recognition.”

“I look forward to its effusiveness. Good luck to your writing as well,” Enjolras said. He touched Eponine’s arm, prompting her to look at him even as their other friends had begun to make their exit. “After today you can probably give the Pontmercys an answer to their invitation,” he whispered to her.

“I will., from both of us. Also, I have to deliver the rest of these,” she said, picking up the envelopes she had set aside.

“Discreetly,” Enjolras quipped. He took his lover's hand and kissed it. “I’ll see you later?”

Eponine smiled as she squeezed his fingers. “Of course, Antoine.”


	27. Of Exile and Reunions

“This Rue de Grenelle isn’t far from the Rue Guisarde, is it?”

“It’s a long walk, but there is an omnibus from the Champ de Mars that goes all the way to Pont Saint-Michel. If you take that you can alight at Saint-Germain, and from there it’s only a little hop to the Rue Guisarde.”

Ariadne nodded tentatively before looking out the carriage window. “Living with Mrs. Calamy will be so quiet. I’ve never lived in a quiet place before,” she murmured before looking at Eponine, who was in the rear facing seat. “She seems like she can never get up to nonsense.”

‘ _Little do you know,’_ Eponine thought even as she tried to keep a straight face. “She’s kinder than she seems at first, and very sensible,” she said, adjusting the strap of the bag she had on her lap. “She’ll make sure you’ll live well, get an education, and when you’re ready for it, a situation that suits you.”

“All I know to do well is draw,” Ariadne scoffed, nudging the carpetbag they had with them. “My mother said I wouldn’t get anywhere with only that.”

“You’d be surprised,” Eponine quipped. “Mrs. Calamy is also interested in science; she used to work with a doctor. She might even like for you to accompany her to lectures, and Neville will surely be there too,” she added, hoping to cheer the girl up.

“It will be just like in London. I liked how we were carrying on here in Paris, except maybe the part about Neville being beaten up,” Ariadne said. She fiddled with the string of her bonnet before looking at Eponine worriedly. “You’re not sending me away because I displeased you or Citizen Enjolras?”

“Not at all; it’s quite the other way around. We’d like to have you around, but it’s just that embassies and cases make things complicated, and there’s the fact you’re not exactly a citizenness here. Not yet,” Eponine explained. ‘ _Though when the time comes, will she be my sister-in-law or my daughter-in-law?’_ she wondered even as the carriage came to a stop outside a tall house covered with climbing roses and ivy.

Victoria was waiting at the door of the house, seemingly watching the street. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to find the place,” she greeted. Her eyes widened on seeing the carpetbag that Ariadne and Eponine brought out of the carriage. “Is that all you have with you?”

“It’s already a little more than what I had a few days ago,” Ariadne said ashamedly. “Citizenness Enjolras gave me some more nice things to wear too.”

Victoria looked at the two women skeptically. “I’ll make sure to hem them; your height difference is significant,” she remarked as she ushered them into the house and up the stairs. “We have leased out the entire second floor. When the Admiral is fully settled in by next week, I shall invite you, Citizen Enjolras, Neville, and Jacques for a dinner party,” she said, glancing back at Eponine as she unlocked the apartment door.

“That would make two dinner parties in one week,” Eponine laughed as they stepped into the Calamys’ new residence. Like many refurbished houses in this part of Paris, the place had newly partitioned rooms with fresh paint on the walls, brightened up by sunlight streaming through tall and graceful windows. ‘ _Almost nothing here was from Piccadilly,’_ she realized as she looked around the living room, which was simply furnished with a newly upholstered couch, three soft chairs, and several small tables. The only personal touches she could see were a few books strewn on a table.

“Apart from clothes and some valuables, I brought only a few things I could not bear to part with. Maybe my husband will bring more, but it’s good that we are not creatures of sentiment,” Victoria said, seeing her friend’s curious expression. “There is also the fact that we’re getting older, and that house would have been far too big for us to handle eventually.”

Ariadne looked around nervously. “Where will my room be?”

“Right here,” Victoria said, opening the door to a chamber at one end of the apartment. “This has its own private bath, and there is a nook that is perfect for reading or whatever you want to do with it. I heard you draw?”

“Only a little.”

“If you like, we can set that up with an easel, pencils, and anything you will need.”

Ariadne’s face lit up as she stepped into the bedroom, which was delicately decorated all in pink and white. A curtained bed with a matching chaise stood at one end of the room, opposite from a white painted armoire and the nook that Victoria had spoken of. “This is lovely! Mrs. Calamy, you shouldn’t have!” Ariadne gushed, holding out her hands.

“I am glad you like it,” Victoria said, sitting on the chaise. “Now let’s get your clothes shaken out and into the armoire, and then have something to eat.”

“I’m sorry but I can’t stay,” Eponine said, checking her watch. “I have some errands to run.”

Victoria looked her over for a moment and smiled slyly. “You sure about that? You should be eating for two.”

“What? How did you know?”

“I know you to be slender, but you’ve put on a little near your hips. It doesn’t take long to count back to Rome.”

‘ _Antoine and I are not going to live this down,’_ Eponine thought, rolling her eyes. “I didn’t see my husband for nearly two months. It’s natural that I missed him.”

“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it; I know how it’s like with having the Admiral away so much of the time when we were younger,” Victoria said. “That is partly why we only have had two children.”

Ariadne looked up distractedly from where she was laying out her clothes on the bed. “I have heard of children being born and raised at sea,” she said.

“I was one of them, and I do not recommend it at all,” Victoria replied.

‘ _Considering how cramped everything is on a ship, how can a child manage?’_ Eponine wondered even as she took her leave of the Englishwomen, and then headed outside. From the omnibus stop at the Champ de Mars, she travelled to the Place Saint-Andre, where many of the Latin Quartier’s print shops and a number of publications. were located. She adjusted her bonnet before walking into one particular broadsheet press office. “Good morning. I’m here to see Citizen Grantaire,” she greeted the clerk at the front desk.

“He’s up in his office with two friends, Citizenness Enjolras,” the clerk said, gesturing to a mezzanine. “Shall I ask him to come down while you wait?”

“No, I shall head straight there,” Eponine said, doffing her bonnet. As she walked up the stairs she heard Grantaire’s raucous laughter ringing over lively conversation. ‘ _What are Courfeyrac and Charlesette doing here?’_ she wondered as she knocked twice on the door. “Carry on! It’s just me!” she called.

“Ah yes, Artemis coming to the aid of Athena at last!” Grantaire greeted as he opened the door. He grinned as he glanced over his shoulder at his two other visitors. “You are no longer outnumbered, Citizenness!”

“I was dropping these off as promised; I had a bit of time to do them yesterday,” Eponine quipped, bringing some translations out of her bag. “Will these do?”

“You have outdone the Muses themselves,” Grantaire said, smiling as he looked over his friend’s handiwork. “Is it true that you will be going with the Pontmercys to help tour that Manchester businessman around the workshop?”

“Yes, we’re going to Vernon the day after tomorrow, and we will be back by Saturday. Enjolras will be joining us too. Bossuet might also be able to come up, if he can agree with Marthe about something,” Eponine replied. She blinked as she took in the sight of Courfeyrac and Charlesette seated hand in hand near Grantaire’s cluttered desk. “I s’pose I should stay since I missed a lot. How have you two been?”

Courfeyrac smiled broadly at her. “Very well. Thank you and Enjolras for watching Armand for me a few days ago. I needed the time to think.”

“Now don’t you spoil it, Maurice,” Charlesette said, getting to her feet and going to Eponine. “Haven’t I got something to tell you!” she whispered excitedly as she looped her arm around the younger woman’s elbow.

“And thus Olympus is darkened. Fare thee well!” Grantaire called dramatically.

“Oh I’ll give her back in a little bit, I don’t have all these hours in a day,” Eponine retorted before she had to follow Charlesette down the stairs and to the area where bundles of newspapers were stacked ready for distribution. She snorted as she looked her friend over. “Something is with you, and it’s got to do with Courfeyrac apologizing.”

“More than apologizing,” Charlesette whispered excitedly. “You’ll never guess what he did!”

“I hope he took my suggestion and wrote a letter.”

“That was only the beginning of it. He asked me to meet him yesterday evening the at Jardin du Luxembourg. I didn’t think I would, but I was already missing him. I decided to at least do him that courtesy.”

“Why at the Luxembourg, of all gardens in Paris?” Eponine asked curiously.

“I’m not sure, but it’s where he met me with a string quartet, as well as someone with a Spanish guitar and another with a French horn,” Charlesette replied before letting out a dreamy sigh. “I am guessing they were from the theater.”

Eponine clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing at the mental image of Courfeyrac singing a troubadour’s ballad in the middle of the promenade. “He didn’t!”

“He did!”

“And what did everyone have to say to that?”

“The police were not happy about the noise, that’s all,” Charlesette laughed, stepping aside only to let someone pass before she sat down on a bundle of newsletters. “Once Maurice was able to explain us both out of it, we went to dinner.”

‘ _And then some,’_ Eponine thought, noting the satisfied spring in Charlesette’s step and the all too tell-tale rosiness in her cheeks. “I’m glad for it. Did he properly introduce you to Armand?”

“Over breakfast this morning,” Charlesette said. “He’s an absolutely brilliant boy. Maurice raised him well. If only his family wasn’t so uptight about it, I would insist they go back to Auch just to be introduced.”

Eponine bit her lip at the mention of Courfeyrac and Charlesette’s hometown. “You did say that you were only visiting here. What then will happen when that is done?”

“Who says I will be visiting only?” Charlesette said amusedly. “Part of my business matters is to set up something here in Paris. Now that Maurice and I have found each other again, I have even more reasons to be in this city. I will not ask him to come back with me to Auch; his whole life is here and this is all Armand knows. I just need to make sure that the business will take.”

“I s’pose that _you_ should talk to Cosette and Marius about that sort of thing,” Eponine pointed out. She looked up as Courfeyrac now exited Grantaire’s office. “I’m sorry for keeping us both down here too long,” she said.

“No, I already have an assignation at the Palais de Justice, while Charlesette also has some errands of her own. We will lunch together first,” Courfeyrac replied gallantly. “Perhaps we can accompany you part of the way or more to your next destination?”

“The Marais? I have to go over with Cosette the things we have to do before our trip to Vernon, such as who will watch all the little ones and keep the houses in order,” Eponine said.

Courfeyrac’s eyes brightened with interest. “Isn’t Pontmercy’s father buried in Vernon?”

“I think so. The town cared for the father, so now the son cares for the town. It makes sense, and it’s a bit like what Citizen Valjean set out to do in Montreuil-sur-mer,” Eponine reasoned.

“Who is Citizen Valjean?” Charlesette asked, putting one hand akimbo.

“Cosette’s father. I s’pose you could say that he was a father to the rest of us too,” Eponine replied a little sadly. “He died at the beginning of this year.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that. He sounds like a great man.”

“Not just great. He was the best of us all.”

Courfeyrac offered his hand to Charlesette. “I have a good tale or two more about him; I was blessed to know him for some ten years. I will tell you more about him, and Eponine can also give her share if she joins us?”

“Not today; Cosette is expecting me there at her home while Marius’ aunt is away,” Eponine replied apologetically. She quickly glanced at her watch only to see that it was past ten in the morning, giving her barely enough time to be at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire by eleven. “That’s done it, now I have to hope that fiacres have wings!”

“For that we have my carriage, and we’ll take what by-ways we can,” Charlesette said amiably. “It would be good for me to see the Marais too; I heard it’s an old neighborhood.”

“But don’t get your food there; the pickings are better at the market,” Eponine pointed out candidly. “Capital R, do you care to join us?” she shouted up to the journalist.

“For now the Muses will feed me; I will wait for your news from Vernon!” Grantaire called, poking his head out of his office.

‘ _He has some sort of deadline, poor man,’_ Eponine realized as she, Courfeyrac, and Charlesette left the press office. Throughout the trip to the Rue des Filles du Calvaire, she could not help but quietly watch the lively and comfortable way that Courfeyrac and Charlesette talked to one another, especially as their hands met and clasped almost without them knowing it. “You’re lucky that it’s me and not the rest of our friends seeing you like this,” she said to Courfeyrac at length. “They’d tell you that you do not have the right to tease them again about love and romance. Ever.”

Courfeyrac blushed deeply, much to Charlesette’s laughter. “You are not going to tell the Pontmercys about this, please!” he said. “Marius would never let me live it down.”

“He has every right to, after your tormenting him about Cosette so many years ago,” Eponine pointed out. “They will find out on some day or another.”

Charlesette rolled her eyes. “Eponine, do tell me just how horrible Maurice has been to all of you. I want to know.”

“You cut me deeply, my dear!” Courfeyrac said, dramatically flinging a hand to his forehead. “I only make observations.”

“Observations phrased as teasing?” Eponine quipped.

“Because I cannot couch them in poetry the way Prouvaire does, or metaphors the way Grantaire wooed Nicholine, and I am not the orator your husband is?” Courfeyrac said with a laugh.

“He does _not_ write anything romantic in his speeches, and you know that,” Eponine retorted. ‘ _The way he looks at me though more than makes up for it,’_ she thought, smiling to herself as the carriage made the last turn into the Rue des Filles du Calvaire.


	28. Memory and Estrangement

Even with the arrival of the railroad and the rise of various industries, much of Vernon still remained to be the sort of town that would be asleep as soon as night fell. ‘ _At least summer gives us some hours of leeway,’_ Enjolras thought as the train from Paris came into sight of the train platform at Vernon. The sun was not yet setting, but already low in the sky, thus prompting him to glance at his watch. “It’s only seven in the evening,” he remarked as he looked at Eponine, Marius, Cosette, Bossuet, as well as Williamson and Julia.

“Then we can have some sort of dinner at the inn, even if we already had some in Paris,” Bossuet said gamely, patting his stomach. “A proper hotpot of mutton and veal would be the perfect ending to the day.”

“That sounds so charming,” Julia chimed in, tugging Williamson’s arm lightly. “I told you that you would enjoy French cooking.”

“I am still getting used to its richness,” Williamson said dryly, glancing at his wife. “Are our accommodations far from here?” he asked Marius, who was seated while staring out the train compartment window.

Marius turned, startled at the Englishman’s query. “Within sight of the station. The workshop is a short walk away from the center of town,” he replied distractedly.

“In the morning we can walk by the Seine and look at the wonderful flower gardens. The promenade runs most of the way to the factory, and it will be healthful exercise,” Cosette suggested as she went over to her husband. She rested her head on his shoulder even as one of her hands went to his chest. “The light is much better after sunrise than just before sunset.”

“Sometimes it is,” Marius said before Cosette drew him down to whisper in his ear.

Enjolras looked away from this interlude while he went over to where Eponine was writing furiously in a notebook, using their shared valise as a desk. “Composing something?” he asked as he sat next to her.

“I s’pose you could say so; I want to have it out in pencil here before I put it on nice paper in a letter,” Eponine replied, smiling as she glanced at him. “It’s part of a letter for Senora de Polignac, since she has so many questions.”

‘ _Perhaps I should also draft letters in notebooks first,’_ Enjolras thought, shuddering as he recalled the calamitous events that had transpired after his unfinished correspondence had fallen in the wrong hands while he was in Zaragoza. He glanced down as he felt Eponine’s hand touch his knee, squeezing it as if by way of reassurance. Soon he felt the train lurch to a stop, prompting everyone to collect their luggage from under or beside the seats. “I’ll take that, if you don’t mind,” he said, sliding the valise off Eponine’s lap.

“There’s hardly anything in it,” Eponine pointed out teasingly even as she handed the baggage to him. She bit her lip as she glanced out the window. “Do you s’pose they will be fine for two whole nights in Paris?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Enjolras said as he helped her to her feet. “At this point, Neville and Jacques are usually sensible with themselves and the little ones, and we have Azelma, Jehan, Combeferre and Claudine checking in on them.”

“If only the children could have gone to the Rue des Filles du Calvaire, as they have before during some of our trips,” Eponine muttered. “But with Marius and Cosette being here with us, there’s no telling if Citizenness Gillenormand will suddenly have my father come over.”

The prospect of Thenardier meeting his grandchildren in this fashion was enough to have Enjolras frowning even as their group made its way to an inn that was within sight of the train platform. Unlike other travelers’ inns, this stone three-storey house was owned by a newly arrived entrepreneur with some aspirations to becoming a bourgeois, and thus was lavishly appointed with touches such as a liveried concierge at the front desk and a front room furnished in velvet and gold. It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face amidst such an ostentatious display. “Much of this is superfluous,” he muttered as the concierge was signing them in.

Eponine rolled her eyes knowingly. “You should see how it is in Claridge’s!” she whispered. “You could hardly step anywhere without landing on a carpet.”

“Claridge’s is far too expensive, and too busy,” Williamson remarked disdainfully. “Even if it is the most celebrated hotel in London, it is too vulgar for my taste.”

“Nothing can compare though to some of the grand hotels of Paris, or even Versailles at its prime,” Julia sighed. “Somehow that sort of grandeur seems permanently gone from the world.”

“A mere veneer for systematic exploitation; the peasants and workingmen seeing to the daily needs of the residence at Versailles had to return to their hovels and crowded homes,” Enjolras pointed out dryly.

“You’d have every Frenchman live in a manor?” Williamson asked.

“That would not be possible, but to have a secure and healthful roof over one’s head should not be the province merely of the landed and wealthy,” Enjolras answered.

“By hard work, such things are reachable,” the Englishman said stiffly. “Yes, a calamitous year or expense can ruin a household, but more often than not it is indolence that is the root of remaining in privation.” 

It was all that Enjolras could do not to glance at Eponine, Bossuet and Marius, all of whom were doing their best to appear as if they had not heard this jibe. “What may appear to be indolence may be the stupor of exhaustion and desperation, which would make it difficult for even the otherwise hardworking individual to make an effort to better one’s lot. Even hunger would produce such an effect,” he said, raising an eyebrow at Williamson.

“I have seen my share of laggards even in the service,” Williamson said haughtily. “Later over supper or tomorrow, I shall tell you of it!” he added before handing his luggage to a porter, who already was carrying Julia’s bags. “Thank you my good man.”

‘ _Likely he is capable of carrying the luggage himself,’_ Enjolras thought even as he followed Eponine up to their assigned room, all the while carrying their one bit of luggage. As he stepped into the room he saw Eponine already sitting on the bed and removing her shoes. “I understand now why Pontmercy wanted us to join this venture,” he said as he set down the valise next to the bed.

Eponine rolled her eyes as she began pulling out her hairpins and setting them on the bedside table. “I s’pose it will be up to me to smooth matters over with Julia while you men debate them all through tomorrow.”

“These are differences in outlook, especially towards those who must live by their own toil,” Enjolras pointed out as he took off his coat. He now sat next to Eponine, who was searching her pockets for a length of ribbon to tie her hair back with. “I doubt he would have been so imprudent with his words if he knew what you, Pontmercy or even Bossuet went through.”

“It wouldn’t make a difference to him. My family’s story would be justified in his eyes; you know we did not run an honest business,” Eponine said, inching closer to him so she could rest her chin on his shoulder. She kissed his neck before running a hand through his hair. “A lot of people, especially some of the funny old English, believe that a good life can be earned by doing good. I s’pose it is not exactly the way it works.”

“What do you mean?”

“Terrible things happen to good people too.”

Before Enjolras could say anything to this, he heard footsteps pacing outside in the hallway. He peered out only to find Bossuet now walking to the end of the hall, with a fist pressed to his bald pate. “Do you need something?” he asked his friend.

Bossuet stopped in his tracks and let out a deep breath. “Care to share a thought?”

Enjolras nodded before glancing back to where Eponine was now lying on the bed, clearly intent on getting in a quick nap. He quietly stepped out and closed the door before looking at his obviously discomfited friend. “I hope that what Citizen Williamson said did not unsettle you,” he said in an undertone.

“I am used to such talk; one always says such things about those that the Evil Genius spurns,” Bossuet said ruefully. He shook his head before tugging on his cravat. “I was thinking that someday I should bring Marthe up here, for her to see what this is all about.”

Enjolras nodded at the mention of his friend’s estranged wife. “That may be wise.”

“Wise to speak of, but when I envision the stage the comedy turns sordid,” Bossuet said, his smile now fading. “The first act is a perfect pastoral: Marthe and myself, perhaps with our daughters, walking by the Seine as I show her what this town has become. The second act, when she reports to her kin what she has seen, is where the tragedy lies.”

“After all these years, with the success of your enterprise with the Pontmercys, the different philanthropic works you have brought to fruition, and even your participation as a paralegal with the Palais de Justice, their opinions remain unchanged?” Enjolras asked.

“The form has altered, but not the substance or vitriol. For them I am a failure of a lawyer and a ne’er do well from Meaux.”

“Yet what is your wife’s opinion on the matter?”

A slight smile tugged on Bossuet’s lips but did not reach his eyes. “She loves me, for better or worse. Yet what is love when it is smothered by unmovable wills such as the Blanchards?” He wiped his face again before putting his hands in his pockets and letting out a deep breath. “Marthe will always be their daughter, I have to accept that. All that I do, even if it will take some time for it to succeed, is for Genevieve and Suzette.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras concurred, touching his friend’s shoulder. “I take that you still reside in the same dwelling with them?”

Bossuet nodded. “A house split in two is more like it; at least its bedrock is firm and the roof does not leak.” He looked upwards for a moment and then met Enjolras’ eyes. “I see how proud your little Laure is of you and Eponine. I would give anything to have my girls look at me and their mother that way once again.”

Enjolras turned at the sound of a door opening, and now saw the Pontmercys step out of their chamber. The couple was dressed in somberly colored overcoats over their attire. “Another assignation?” Enjolras asked.

“Only to the churchyard,” Marius replied. “You can join us too, and Eponine as well.”

“Give me a moment,” Enjolras said before returning to his room, where he found Eponine lying awake. “Eponine, we’ll be going to the churchyard for a short visit. Do you wish to join us?” he informed her as he began to put on his coat.

“To pay respects, I s’pose?” Eponine asked, now sitting up and stretching. She smoothed down her clothes and quickly put on her shoes. She paused in the middle of lacing up her shoes and bit her lip pensively. “I don’t think that if Marius’ father was alive today that he’d be happy to see me or my father.”

“Why would you say so?”

“When my father pulled the Colonel Pontmercy out of that ditch in Waterloo, it was probably not to save his life.”

‘ _As if anyone can expect better from Citizen Thenardier,’_ Enjolras thought as he opened their valise so that Eponine could retrieve a heavier pelisse than the one she’d worn on the train. “Your father’s actions have no bearing on who you are, or on the ties you’ve made since,” he said as he watched her finish bundling up.

Eponine smiled and then deftly slipped her hand in his as they left the room. “I’m glad you think so, Antoine.”

Upon arriving downstairs, Marius bought a basketful of flowers and then led his companions to the church, which was a short walk away. The sun was lower in the sky and the shadows were beginning to lengthen, but he unerringly made his way to a grave by the apse of the church. A stone cross stood at the head of this tomb, with the name “Colonel Baron Georges Pontmercy” etched in clear lettering.

Marius knelt by the grave and strewed the flowers all over the rather dry grass. His face was somber and melancholy, but not stained with tears, as he touched the stone cross. “I’m here again, Father. Cosette is here too, and our friends. You would have loved to meet them,” he murmured even as he made room for Cosette to also sit next to him.

Enjolras nodded for Eponine and Bossuet to step a little way back to give the pair some privacy. ‘ _All the songs of glory from Waterloo end here,’_ he could not help thinking even as he watched his friends in their wordless conversation. It now occurred to him that of the five of them in that corner of the churchyard, he was the only one who had yet to bury a parent, or any person he considered as such. ‘ _May that time come many years from now,’_ he hoped silently.

Bossuet cleared his throat first. “The churchyard at Meaux has been dug up. Should I seek my father or my sires, they are all over the earth,” he said with wry amusement. “It is a very fitting end for a man who wanted nothing more than a post office.”

“At least you know there was a churchyard. I have no idea in what common grave my mother was in,” Eponine whispered. “I’m sure that’s dug up too, what with all the renovations in the prisons these past years.”

“Perhaps it would be best to have a marker for all the unnamed and unclaimed dead of our prisons,” Enjolras suggested. “That would accord them some dignity, even anonymously.”

Eponine shook her head. “I wouldn’t do that. Can you imagine how often it would be pelted with everything disagreeable?”

“That would still be vandalism, by the way,” Enjolras said. ‘ _Not that the charge matters to those who are in the grip of outrage,’_ he thought even as he saw the Pontmercys now getting to their feet to walk back, still hand in hand.

“When we get back to Paris, I’m going to order another gravestone,” Cosette said as she reached them. “It’s for my mother. I intend to put it on or next to my father’s resting place.”

“I realize now you hardly ever mention her, except that she was from Montreuil-sur-mer,” Bossuet pointed out as they continued walking to the churchyard’s gate.

“My father always spoke of her with reverence, and I knew he didn’t mean for me to talk so openly about her, except of course to Marius and the children. Now that he’s gone with her, I can tell more of it. ” Cosette explained. “Her name was Fantine. She had no other. She was born in Montreuil-sur-mer and then came to Paris to work in the years before Father opened his factory there. While she was in Paris, she had me and was abandoned by her lover some time after. That was when she went back to her hometown and left me for a time in Montfermeil. She would have had me come to her eventually, but she lost her job and turned to desperate means. She eventually met Father, but he could not save her.”

‘ _Of course she would never mention Citizen Tholomyes,’_ Enjolras thought, remembering the heedless old elector who, last he had heard, was retired in Toulouse. He glanced at Eponine, who was biting her lip hard. “You do know it was not your fault,” he remarked, seeing how she had averted her eyes from Cosette.

“Even when my mother said unkind things about Cosette’s mother, I was still told by the priests and our Catechism that I had to be kind to those around me. Back then that meant Cosette, and I knew people were talking about what she was or where she came from. I was not kind, not for many years,” Eponine whispered. “I was eight when Citizen Valjean came for her. I did know a little better, or I thought I did.”

Cosette stopped in her tracks and let go of Marius’ arm. She waited for Eponine to look at her before speaking again. “There were times, especially when I was a little older, that I wished that he had taken you and Azelma with me.”

“In a way, he did,” Eponine said, managing a smile. “I shall not forget that day,” she added, looking at Enjolras.

“Even at the barricade, Citizen Valjean was the best of us. He never fired a shot meant to kill,” Enjolras said, now looking at Marius and Bossuet. “Then when the fighting was done, he came back to help Combeferre with the wounded.”

“You were the one who helped save him from returning to prison,” Marius pointed out. “If it had not been for you, my blockheadedness would have had him dead in La Force. Even though we had ten years with him, it could never be enough.”

Enjolras closed his eyes, remembering all of a sudden that afternoon when he’d received a message that Jean Valjean had suddenly been taken ill. He and Eponine had rushed to the Rue des Filles du Calvaire, arriving to a household already preparing for mourning. ‘ _He had thanked me, and told Eponine that all would be well before he made his last goodbyes to Marius and Cosette,’_ he recalled silently. “His case inspired the reforms that we now see today. I am glad he was able to see some of its fruits,” he said at length as they now made their way to the street leading back to the inn.


	29. A Skip In the Tune

By the time that Enjolras, Eponine, Cosette, Marius, and Bossuet returned to the inn, the air was filled with the fresh aroma of newly caught fish on the fire, mingled with the fragrance of herbs. “You’re just in time! There is also a mushroom soup and a large selection of pastries on the menu tonight,” Julia greeted cheerily from where she and Williamson were seated at a candlelit table nestled in one of several curtained alcoves in the dining room.

“Sounds more fit for a fine hotel than a travelers’ inn,” Bossuet said. “How did you come across such a place, Pontmercy?”

“Some of the other lawyers recommended it, and it has been mentioned in travel guides,” Marius replied, helping Cosette into a seat next to his. “It is my first time though to book actual accommodations in this inn.”

“It at least is much cleaner than the average countryside roadhouse in England,” Williamson said, rubbing the side of his glass of water. “Which I hear is paradise compared to many other establishments on the south of this continent.”

‘ _Am I glad then that he did not join us in Italy,’_ Eponine thought, sharing a knowing look with Enjolras as she picked up a bill of fare that had been left on the tabletop. “It’s at least more varied than anything my mother ever had in the inn,” she muttered. “I don’t know how Cosette, Zelma and me ever managed to grow on the stuff.”

“I didn’t,” Cosette said before politely waving to a server. “Do we have a house white wine available tonight?”

“Unfortunately, we are out of wine, Citizenness. May I interest you however in some cider freshly brought from Alencon?” the server said cheerily.

‘ _So much for that,’_ Eponine thought, seeing Cosette’s crestfallen expression even as Marius began to order the meal. “It’s too cold for grapes in some of these parts after all. I mean, that’s why most of the wine in England is imported?” she asked at length, looking to their English guests.

“I think some people may have tried making vineyards in the south of England, but the soil is not kind for grapes,” Julia answered. “That is why many ships who stop by the Mediterranean restock their wines _there_ , mainly for the officers!”

“Most hands aboard a man-of-war drink beer, or a special mix we call grog,” Williamson explained. “It’s several spirits mixed with lime juice and water. If the men were being particularly unruly, we’d water the grog to six portions of water to one of spirits.”

“That would make it rather tasteless then?” Bossuet asked. “Almost nothing in potency.”

“Better than having our ships become stages for decadence,” Williamson sniffed. “Every time we went into port for refitting or to get supplies, we would be treated to the most indelicate scenes of drunkenness and lechery. But what could one expect from such mean personages?”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed as he looked keenly at the former officer. “Were most of these sailors impressed into service?”

“Yes. The Admiralty made sure that each man was compensated well and given board and lodging for the duration of their time at sea.”

“Did that compensation cover the loss of one’s liberty and livelihood while serving in such a perilous war that had little to do with the daily welfare of those bleeding for it?”

“For some people it did,” Julia piped up. “A man could pay off his debts, buy a farm and a house, or start some industry with an ordinary seaman’s share of prize money.”

“Prize money?” Marius asked. “Wouldn’t that come from the capture of enemy ships?”

“Yes; each seaworthy vessel was valuable,” Williamson said. “This was only when England was in a state of war; it would have been outright piracy to simply capture ships during peacetime.”

“Then what is the difference between a pirate and a privateer?” Marius asked. “I understand that they both capture ships for profit?”

“One is a law onto himself, the other operates under a letter of marque, which is a special permission,” Williamson explained.

“Either way is mercenary,” Enjolras pointed out. “It shouldn’t be condoned.”

Williamson merely took a sip of water. “I do not care for the latter either. Economics is the object, not patriotism.”

‘ _The same could be said for my father’s being at Waterloo, and he even got some sort of reward for it,’_ Eponine could not help thinking even as she now saw a server bringing over their meal, which turned out to be several large fillets of sole in cream sauce, a large tureen of mushroom soup, and a salad of celery and potatoes. It was a meal that was more delicately flavored than she would have liked for supper, but its light seasoning and smooth textures had a certain appeal all the same. After some minutes she noticed some men carrying pipes, gathering around a single musician with a guitar, only to start up a lively tune that had some of the inn’s patrons clearing away the tables so they could dance in a circle in the middle of the room.

Julia clapped her hands at this sight. “How lovely! It’s just like one of our Scot reels!”

“Yes, but you can get more people to dance with this,” Cosette pointed out.

“I heard you grew up in a convent. How do convent students ever learn to dance?” Julia asked her curiously.

“In secret. Some of us brought a thing or two from home,” Cosette replied with a mischievous smile. She looked down at her empty plate and pushed it aside. “Come on, I could show you how!”

Marius nearly choked as he stared at her. “Right now?”

“We can’t dance when there is no music,” Cosette cajoled, taking his hand. “Come on, dance with me!”

“Maybe later, Cosette.”

Eponine glanced at Enjolras, who merely shook his head. ‘ _Later then,’_ she decided as she also got up from her seat. “It’s not going to strain me much. Let’s go join that dance, Cosette,” she said to her friend.

“I’ll go with you both,” Julia said, wiping her mouth daintily. She put one hand akimbo as she looked at Williamson. “Are you going to let me dance alone?”

Williamson sighed as he also stood up. “Pardon us, my wife has always been of the lively sort. We shall be back,” he said to the men.

‘ _I do not see why that even warrants an apology,’_ Eponine thought even as they found places in the circle, with the men on the outside and the women on the inside. A portly singer was starting up a lively song, which was the signal for the dancers to move about and change partners, signaling each switch with a clap. She found herself first before a farmer freshly come in from the fields, then in front of a clerk, and then a man also dressed in traveling clothes. As she moved from this third partner, she felt someone slip a card into a fold of her coat; it was only through a deft gesture that she kept it from falling to the floor. ‘ _Definitely something for later,’_ she thought, concealing this piece of paper in her sleeve even as she craned her neck to try to ascertain the identity of her third partner, but the man seemed to have vanished into thin air.

“Eponine, who are you looking for?” Cosette called from some feet away.

“I thought I saw someone familiar,” Eponine said, even as suddenly the players in the corner started up a livelier tune. “What is this?”

“It’s called the polka!” Bossuet called, now sallying forward. “It’s beginning to catch on in the ballrooms of Europe, so Feuilly told me.”

“How funny a name! How do you dance it?” Eponine asked.

Bossuet motioned for her to stand aside before he stepped forward to take Cosette’s arms and then lead her in a side-step and a hop. “Something like that, only with some more turns,” he said, stepping back and then bowing to her.

Eponine glanced around the dance floor, where people were beginning to pair off and find places. ‘ _Perhaps some other time,’_ she decided, knowing better than to risk a misstep or tripping up in her condition. She deftly returned to the alcove, where Enjolras and Marius were deep in discussion. “Your wife wants a partner,” she admonished Marius.

Marius shook his head. “I do not know this dance, so how can I lead?”

“The first problem is simple enough to solve,” Eponine pointed out, looking back to where Bossuet was now bowing and conversing to a matron, while Cosette was demurely talking to a man who had the air of a churchwarden. ‘ _But wanting to solve it is another thing,’_ she thought, looking to where Enjolras had now brought out his own notebook and a pencil. “What are you doing?” she asked him in a whisper.

“Writing this down before I forget,” Enjolras replied, looking up briefly from his scrawling.

“What on earth is it?”

“A note on the Spanish papers.”

Eponine rolled her eyes exasperatedly even as she adjusted her gloves and sat back in the alcove’s padded seat. ‘ _If it means his getting to sleep earlier, then I’ll take that,’_ she decided as she now looked to where Bossuet, Cosette, and the two Williamsons were now dancing and laughing at their occasional missteps. She glanced at Marius, who was also staring at the dancers and gritting his teeth. “You know she’s waiting for you to ask,” she remarked.

“I do not know the dance,” Marius replied, his fist tightening around his glass.

“Nor does she, so it hardly makes a difference.”

“By the way, staring at her will not remedy the situation either,” Enjolras deadpanned as he continued to write.

Marius muttered something under his breath before abruptly standing up and then marching over to the dance floor. He went up to where Cosette was about to make a turn, and then tapped her shoulder lightly. Cosette quickly broke away from her partner, murmuring an apology, before smiling bemusedly at Marius and placing her hand in his. For a moment the pair seemed to confer before Cosette stepped back to lead him through the first figure of the dance.

From her seat, Eponine smiled before looking at Enjolras, whose brow was furrowed with concentration as he continued to work. She placed a hand atop of his, prompting him to look at her. “Later then?” she asked.

“Perhaps,” Enjolras said a little distractedly as he squeezed her hand. “You have something in your sleeve.”

“Oh this.” Eponine pulled out the card she had picked up, only to find it completely blank. “How odd!”

Enjolras looked at the small rectangle intently for a moment. “Allow me,” he whispered, motioning for her to hand over the card. He held the card up a few inches above the candle that illuminated the alcove. After a minute, smooth dark lines began appearing on the card, soon taking the form of letters and lines. “It’s invisible ink,” he said, setting the card down on the table.

Eponine’s jaw dropped as she looked back to the dance floor, only to see no sign of the man who had handed her this mysterious message. She looked down at the slightly scorched card, only to realize that the words there were in Italian. “What does it say?” she asked Enjolras.

“It’s about Mazzini’s friend, Garibaldi. The message says to expect him with the fall,” Enjolras said in Occitan. “That is all.”

“I s’pose there should be more to it, soon.”

“Indeed. I would not be surprised if this arrived in Paris, but here we are a good way off.”

Eponine swallowed hard and clasped Enjolras’ hand even as she watched the dancing continue. Suddenly the shadows of the room seemed longer and more forbidding, prompting her to inch closer to him even as he now set his own work aside in favor of ripping up and burning the missive in the candle. “Where is that Garibaldi fellow coming from?” she wondered aloud.

“If I remember correctly, from South America,” Enjolras said as he set the last piece aflame. “We have time to clarify this yet.”

‘ _If the post works this time,’_ Eponine thought as she heard the music fade and soon saw their companions return to the table. “Had fun?” she asked Marius and Cosette.

“Splendid. It is terrific exercise,” Cosette said exuberantly as she clung to Marius’ arm. “Aren’t you glad about it?”

“We need a little more practice,” Marius admitted abashedly, kissing her cheek. He took a look at his watch and his eyes widened. “It’s almost ten in the evening. We should retire and get some rest; the workday at the workshop starts at eight, and we should be there before then.”

“That would be wise,” Williamson said with a bow before nodding to Julia. “Good night to you all, and thank you for a wonderful dinner.”

Bossuet whistled as he watched the Williamsons and then the Pontmercys head upstairs to their respective rooms. “What about you two?” he asked Eponine and Enjolras.

“We’ll be along in a while,” Enjolras reassured him, dusting some ash off the table. “You look like you need some rest, my friend.”

“More of nepenthe till morning,” Bossuet laughed. “I shall see if the ciders here agree with me. It would be a shame not to sample some of Normandy”

‘ _It’s not like him to drink alone,’_ Eponine realized as she nodded to Bossuet as the latter left to talk to a server. “He’s been melancholy this trip,” she said to Enjolras. “Is he well?”

“Physically, he is. Perhaps he should speak with Joly, but not about medical matters,” Enjolras said. For a moment he was silent, seemingly deep in thought, until he looked at Eponine with an intensity in his eyes that made her breath catch. “Shall we?”

“Shall we what?”

“I thought you’d like another dance.”

Eponine nodded as she took Enjolras’ hand and walked with him to the now empty dance floor. The fire was beginning to burn low in the dining room’s large hearth, throwing a dim golden glow over the floor. She smiled as she felt his free hand now come to rest on her waist. “We do not have any music,” she said, putting her own hand on his shoulder.

“Indeed, but that seems inconsequential now,” he pointed out, leading her to sway to the side. “Did you have anything in mind?”

“To sing? I don’t think so,” she said, moving with him before he led her into a turn and then caught her again with a hand on her back. Once they were face to face she stood on tiptoe to touch her forehead to his even as he moved his hands upwards to her shoulders to close the distance between their bodies. She felt her heartbeat speeding up even as she now met his ardent eyes. “What about you?”

“Nothing in particular,” Enjolras admitted. His cheeks reddened slightly as he pushed a stray strand of hair away from her face. “You know that I am not one for music or most songs, at least the sort played here.”

“I s’pose we should have found a place with a symphony. Maybe we’d get someplace.” Eponine quipped. She smiled as she touched his cheek, feeling him lean into her slightly. “But I like this very much too.”

“Really now?”

“Because it’s you,” she whispered before catching his lips in a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The polka was only beginning to catch on in the 1840s. But yes, I took a slight liberty here. 
> 
> And historically Garibaldi would not be back in Italy for some more years, but this is a revved up timeline.


	30. Innovation is a Terrifying Thing

One thing that Enjolras disliked about traveling was that he more often than not found himself awake at odd hours, especially when sleeping in an unfamiliar room for the first time. ‘ _At least this is an ample opportunity to review matters,’_ he told himself as he carefully got out of bed in the half-light before dawn, taking care not to disturb Eponine who was seemingly still fast asleep. He silently made his way to the other side of their room, which was furnished with a basin for freshening up, as well as a rickety desk and a rush-bottomed chair. Once there he deftly lit a candle and searched through his coat pockets for his notebook.

In the flickering glow he carefully reviewed the scribbling he had made the night before about the papers he’d been studying before leaving Paris, and then closed his eyes for a few moments to think back on the circumstances of his writing. ‘ _That man thought he was being discreet, and he probably passed muster for the most part,’_ he thought as he remembered what had transpired the night before in the dining room. Although he had not been with his friends during the first dance, he had certainly seen that much muffled traveler approach Eponine to hand her the note that had been written in invisible ink. ‘ _Then he sat away from most of the dancing, to watch if I got the note and see what I would do about it,’_ he recalled, seeing now before his mind’s eye the traveler’s querulous stare from across the room. It was only while he had been dancing with Eponine that he finally noticed this stranger depart the dining room.

As he opened his eyes to turn another page in his notebook he felt a pair of hands on his shoulders. “Did you even sleep at all, Antoine?” Eponine asked as she rested her chin on his head.

“You made sure of it, to a point,” Enjolras quipped, craning his neck to so he could look at her. He smiled as he pushed her still tousled hair away from her face, just to see her eyes which were still bleary from sleep; even in this state he found her more than just alluring. “Go back to sleep, Eponine.”

Eponine grinned lazily before kissing the bridge of his nose. “No.”

He raised an eyebrow even as he got to his feet so he could face her properly. “It’s probably only four or five in the morning.”

“I don’t care,” she insisted, smiling mischievously before reaching up to kiss the corner of his mouth, trailing her lips up to his left ear. “Make me.”

Enjolras smirked as he lifted her chin, knowing all too well the challenge in her tone, before he captured her mouth with his. She squeaked with surprise only to moan as he parted her lips with his tongue. For a moment it seemed as if she would lose her footing before she suddenly kissed him back, pressing her breasts to his bare chest as one of her hands tugged at his hair. It was all the impetus he needed to scoop her up and carry her back to the bed, breaking their kiss just so he could set her down on the mattress. “We have to be careful,” he warned, stopping himself from following her down completely by propping himself up on his elbows.

“I’m not going to break,” Eponine insisted breathily as she brought her hands down to run over his chest, pausing when she felt his breath catch. “You know that.”

He bit back a groan as he met her eyes which were dark with desire, more so when she licked her now swollen lips. “You know there’s no sleeping with what we’re doing,” he warned in a low voice.

“The same with what you were up to there,” she pointed out, bringing up her legs to wrap around his hips. “Please.”

“Damn it all,” Enjolras muttered, feeling his own desire heighten just from seeing Eponine so aroused. He moved them both so that now she was atop of him, before making a slow trail from the tip of her nose, down over the corner of her trembling lips, then onto her chin, then on to her neck. He paused to look her in the eye before reaching up to plant a heated kiss on the hollow of her throat, smirking against her skin as her soft gasps soon gave way to needy whimpers and pleading. Soon they were making love slowly and steadily, muffling each other’s moans and cries with drawn out kisses that left them both breathless yet coming back for even more. As he reached his climax, he caught her lips in a messy kiss, a mere moment before she too reached her own peak, screaming his name into his mouth before she fell into his arms and buried her face in his shoulder. For a long while they simply lay together, too sated to do much more other than revel in their shared warmth as well as the steady rhythm of their heartbeats almost in time with each other.

At last Enjolras felt Eponine stir on top of him, prompting him to run a hand over the back of her neck. “The point of sleep is definitely moot,” he quipped when she finally looked at him.

“You _never_ wanted to get back to sleep in the first place,” Eponine retorted, scooting up to plant a teasing kiss on his lips. “I know how you are when you’ve got something on your mind.”

“More than one thing,” he admitted, closing his eyes as one of her hands began making soothing circles through his hair. “It probably isn’t a surprise to you, but we were being watched last night,” he said as he brought down his hand to the small of her back.

“We’re always being watched, but I s’pose you mean the note with invisible ink? I don’t think many people know that you have made and used that stuff before,” she pointed out.

“We were certainly followed from Paris, here to Vernon,” he added. “Did you notice anyone on the train?”

“Not with all the hurry we had. Maybe we can still catch him here in the inn.”

“I doubt it; it would be more in the interest of self-preservation to leave before anybody _else_ notices the missive.”

“Someone is watching the watcher then,” Eponine quipped before now moving to lie beside Enjolras, pillowing her head on his shoulder. “I hope it’s someone we know.”

“That can go either way,” Enjolras reminded her. He moved his hand down over to her stomach, lingering over the gentle swell just below her navel. “Have you dreamt again about him or her?” he asked curiously.

“It’s a girl, I s’pose,” she said, smiling softly as she placed her palms over his. “At least in the last good dream I had, this one was definitely a little lady.”

‘ _I wonder if this one will have red hair or golden?’_ he thought as he kissed her once more. Even as he felt her hands grasp his shoulders to pull him closer, he heard footsteps approaching the bedroom door, followed by knocking. “Once more we are interrupted,” he muttered against her lips.

Eponine rolled her eyes. “Can you give us a few minutes? I think I have to cover up something” she called.

“I will pretend I did not hear that,” Cosette retorted. “Marius is ordering breakfast for everyone downstairs, since we have to meet the workers _before_ eight in the morning.”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes,” Enjolras answered, even as he saw Eponine trying in vain to stifle her laughter. “Now what are you thinking of?”

“They certainly enjoyed their evening too,” Eponine giggled. “Though I think we did better; I always like it when you dance with me.”

“Indeed,” he concurred before kissing her forehead and then getting out of bed to extinguish the candle. After freshening up and dressing quickly, they headed downstairs in time to find the Pontmercys already seated at the same alcove they had occupied the night before. “Aside from the tour, what else did you have planned for today?” he asked them by way of greeting.

“Discussing with Mr. Williamson some matters, if he is agreeable to the way we do things here,” Marius replied. “I hope he will find it to his liking.”

“Of course he will,” Cosette declared. “We keep the workers satisfied and well-paid, the way that Papa taught us. For that all of Vernon and the surrounding area is so much the better. What’s not to like about something decent?”

“Nothing, unless one worships Croesus,” Bossuet chimed in as he walked up to the table. “I apologize for the classical allusion, but it is a fact that maximizing profit does extract a price from happiness,” he added.

“Is it ever possible to have both?” Eponine wondered aloud. “There has to be some way of going about business that doesn’t make workers in an atelier or shop angry at its owner, and also does not have the owner wishing he could give less for wages.”

“It would involve challenging the idea of majority ownership,” Enjolras mused aloud. He took the opportunity to wind up his watch, only to find that he had to set the time for nearly seven in the morning. ‘ _Hardly any time at all,’_ he thought even as the Williamsons soon made their appearance, just as a server brought out the meal

From the inn, it was a short but leisurely stroll to the beads workshop, directly accessible through the promenade hugging the banks of the Seine. By the time they arrived at the workshop door, it was already eight in the morning, judging by the bell tolling the hour from the church belfry down the road. “I find it surprising that your workshop opens up so late in the morning,” Williamson remarked as he caught sight of the workers and foremen entering the workroom premises.

Cosette gave the Englishman a sidelong glance. “What then would be the proper time?”

Williamson raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the workers and then once again at Cosette “Madame Pontmercy, in Manchester we start no later than six in the morning.”

“Then I think you will be in for a surprise, Citizen,” Enjolras said with a smirk even as Marius and Bossuet came forward to greet the assembled company.


	31. The Gift That Is Your Existence

Despite the ever-present temptation to sleep in a little longer, Eponine made sure to be awake before dawn on the morning of the 15th of September. ‘ _Just in time to get the first bread from the bakery,’_ she thought as she silently got out of bed; a feat that was easier said than done given the fact that her bedmate was not sleeping all that deeply. She took a deep breath as she put on her chemise and tugged it down over her middle; at least on this morning the nausea felt somewhat more manageable. While she hurriedly put on the rest of her clothes, she heard Enjolras stir and turn under the covers. “I’ll be back in a little bit; I just need to get something for breakfast,” she whispered in his ear before he could reach for her.

“You sure? I could do it,” he mumbled, still half-asleep.

“My turn,” she insisted, squeezing his shoulder and pulling the blanket over his shoulders. As quietly as she could she slipped out of the house and rushed to the bakery near the Marche Saint-Germain, just in time to be near the head of the queue that always formed outside this long-standing establishment.

The baker, a friendly-faced gentleman with a quickly receding hairline, eyed Eponine curiously as she put some sous on the countertop. “Good to see you here, Citizenness Enjolras,” he greeted. “Usually it’s your husband who comes here for the bread.”

“Yes but since it’s his birthday today, I’m setting out our breakfast,” Eponine replied with a grin. “I’ll have one extra loaf, and half a dozen brioches too, please.”

“Well that is a great occasion! I’ll make sure to greet him if I see him,” the baker exclaimed cheerily as he began wrapping up the long loaves as well as the hot brioche buns. “The additional loaf is on me. It is not often I get to do you two a good turn,” he added in a whisper.

“Thank you Citizen Alarie,” Eponine said as she picked up the breads and then rushed back to the house. Much to her relief no one else was awake when she arrived, thus allowing her to set the table with two additional place settings. After putting the breads, some cheeses, and a newly opened jar of peach jam on the table, she hurried into the kitchen to begin putting together a large omelet filled with some ham, herbs, and mushrooms she’d carefully hidden away in the larder. It was only as she was sliding the piping hot omelet onto a plate that she heard a knock from the front door. She swiftly put out the stove before hurrying to see who this arrival was. “Louis! Monique! You’re right on time!” she whispered.

“I was telling him that we had to hurry to catch you all before the school or workday,” Monique said, glancing balefully at her husband, who was carrying a large bag. She pulled Eponine into a warm hug. “You’re looking so well. Is Antoine awake already?”

“Not yet; that’s part of the surprise,” Eponine replied, ushering her parents-in-law into the house. “Is that also for breakfast?” she asked Louis.

“Yes, we brought up some spreads and jams, and some fruits as well. Where do I set these down?” Louis asked.

“Just on the dining room table. Please, you can sit anywhere you like while I get everyone up,” Eponine said before rushing up the stairs. As she arrived in the hallway she could hear the sounds of the youngsters in their respective rooms; Neville was puttering about, Jacques was clearly searching for clothes, while something of an argument was starting in the younger children’s bedroom. ‘ _By next month, Laure should be able to use the new room,’_ she thought as she glanced towards the furthest door in the hall, leading to the room that had just seen the builders’ first renovations the day before.

She knocked twice on the children’s room before stepping in. “It’s a bit too early for that, you three. What’s happening?” she asked, putting her hands akimbo as she took in the sight of Laure glaring crossly at her brothers, who’d been bouncing on their beds.

“Maman, Tienne took my hair ribbon,” Laure said exasperatedly, pointing at the half-dressed toddler. “Julien won’t help me get it back!”

Eponine sighed deeply before giving Julien a warning glance and then looking at Etienne, who had a defiant expression on his face as he tucked a trailing hair ribbon under his armpit. “Tienne, that is not nice. Give it back to your sister,” she admonished.

The little boy shook his head. “No! I want to play!”

“Your sister needs it for school, while right now I need to get you dressed. Give it back.”

“No!”

Eponine shook her head before holding out her hand, which prompted Etienne to pout before handing her the ribbon, only to sit on the floor with a displeased expression. “Come on, stand up. Your grandparents are downstairs,” she said.

“Grandmother and grandfather are here?” Julien squeaked. “Now?”

“Yes, but that is supposed to be a surprise---” Eponine began, only to have the older two children race out of the room and down the stairs. “So much for that,” she muttered as she scooped up a still pouting Etienne to get him ready for the day.

As she finally left the washroom with a much cleaner and slightly more mollified toddler in tow, she saw Enjolras stepping out of their bedroom but still in his shirtsleeves. “I think you need to put your coat on for breakfast,” she said candidly as she let Etienne head downstairs.

“Just for breakfast?” Enjolras asked. He raised an eyebrow as a delighted shout came from the general direction of the living room. “Are my parents _actually_ downstairs?”

“Yes, and that was supposed to be part of the surprise too.” Eponine slipped her arms around his neck before kissing him lightly. “Happy birthday, Antoine.”

Enjolras relaxed under her touch even as his hands closed around her waist. “It would seem that we have quite the day ahead of us,” he remarked, his smile a mix of affectionate and bemused.

“I didn’t plan anything apart from my working at home all day, and minding Etienne between all of that,” she replied, running her hands over his waistcoat. “I know you aren’t expected later at the Palais de Justice.”

“That is true.” He pushed a strand of auburn hair behind her ear before kissing her brow. “We’d better not keep them waiting.”

She nodded before letting go of him so he could get his morning coat, only to have him emerge a minute later while still tying his patterned cravat a little loosely. She swallowed hard as her eyes followed the strong lines of his jaw and his neck; the sight always had a very welcome heat pooling within her. “There, you look dashing. I’m glad I get to see you like this, before all the ruckus later,” she said as she smoothed out his cuffs.

Enjolras smirked at this mention of the testimonial dinner. “What a way of putting it.”

“You know how everyone can be,” Eponine said, taking his hand so they could head downstairs. By this time, Louis and Monique had gotten all the children in the dining room; Louis was conversing with Jacques and Neville while Laure, Julien, and Etienne were hopping about as they competed to tell Monique a story. “It’s too early to talk people’s ears off you three,” she laughed by way of greeting.

Laure beamed when she saw her father. “Papa! Happy birthday!” she greeted as she jumped up to hug him. “Is it true we’re having a big party later?”

“Yes, and a lot of your uncles and aunts will be there,” Enjolras said, ruffling the little girl’s hair before picking up both Julien and Etienne. “Thank you for the greeting, _petite_.”

“We’re too big for that, but happy birthday, Father,” Jacques quipped, making a motion as if tipping his hat. “Now you can’t object when we call you that.”

Louis chuckled as he got to his feet to hug his son. “Don’t look so abashed, Antoine. Today is your day! You’ll have so many people telling you that,” he said, clapping Enjolras’ back.

“Yes, at that party later,” Monique chimed in before sighing contentedly. “I am so proud of you. A beautiful family, loyal friends, a brilliant career and all that good that you are doing and will do---what more could you possibly ask for?”

Eponine smiled amusedly at Enjolras’ blushing even as she went to the kitchen to get the coffee started. ‘ _Hopefully the smell of it won’t set me off,’_ she thought as she put a hand on the slight bump of her midsection. It was just as well that she had asked Nicholine to adjust some of the measurements for the dress she would wear that evening. All the same she could not help but feel a frisson of worry while she set the coffee to brew on the stove while she returned to the dining room. As she took her seat she realized that Monique was eyeing her curiously. “I s’pose you noticed something?” she asked candidly.

The older woman smiled knowingly. “When do we get to meet that little one?”

“March,” Eponine replied, sneaking a glance at Enjolras. “It is unexpected.”

“I should think it was about time; Etienne is already two,” Monique said primly. “If my health permitted it years ago, you’d have more brothers or sisters-in-law.”

“You mean a whole army to fill our house,” Louis said sagely to his own wife as he helped hand out the food. “Laure was saying that you are setting up a whole room for her?” he asked the younger couple.

“We’re making renovations upstairs,” Enjolras explained. “Even in the unlikely event that the children would like to double up rooms again, it will still be good to have a spare chamber.”

“ _Unlikely_ is definitely the word,” Neville said under his breath. “I think I’ve had enough with sleeping on the floor of Jacques’ room.”

“Only because we had a houseguest for a few days,” Eponine chimed in, seeing the confused looks her in-laws were exchanging. ‘ _Did Neville ever tell Louis and Monique about Ariadne while he was staying in Provence?’_ she wondered even as the smell of brewed coffee now filled the air. Before she could excuse herself to rescue the pot, she saw Enjolras get to his feet and head to the kitchen. “It isn’t burned, is it?” she called after him.

“It’s just right,” Enjolras replied, now returning with the kettle. “What news from Aix?” he asked his parents as he set down the coffee on the table.

“Nothing much apart from what you’d expect from your cousins’ perpetual belligerence. I warrant that by the time your mother and I return that Henri would have had to bail them out of jail once more,” Louis began. “What will interest you would be some news from Marseille.”

“Marseille?”

“Spanish refugees, or more like from Catalonia. According to them, Barcelona was bombarded by General Espartero.”

Eponine bit her lip even as she saw Enjolras’ brow furrow. “We can check what the foreign correspondents have to say about it,” she said, reaching for his hand under the table.

“That would only be scratching the surface of the matter; I will have to write to a friend in Berlin,” Enjolras whispered, squeezing her fingers. “How were the refugees received in Marseille?” he asked Louis.

“Well enough by the kind populace, but that caused some questions of course with the mayor and the city administration,” Louis replied. “You are well-acquainted with the envoy to Spain, I hear?”

“The former envoy; as of now there is no officer in charge of our embassy there, and it is directly under the Home Office.”

“That is a shame. A negotiation with a skilled ambassador would have averted it.”

‘ _Not with what Citizen D’Aramitz did, and with General Espartero being less than tolerant from what I hear,’_ Eponine thought as she continued to eat her breakfast, checking from time to time to make sure that Etienne actually ate his food instead of playing with it, or that Julien and Laure were not tossing bread crusts under the table. “You children have to be back here by five later, so we can get ready and be on time for dinner; it’s all the way near the Champs Elysees,” she said to Jacques and Neville in particular.

Neville turned scarlet as he set down his cup of coffee. “If it’s all the same to you and Father, might I simply head straight there instead after I am done for the day at the university?” he asked.

“Rather, you were asked to escort someone?” Enjolras corrected.

Neville nodded quickly. “She is after all invited to the party too.”

“Why, weren’t you writing to an English girl just last summer?” Monique asked the young man suspiciously.

“Yes, and she’s here in Paris,” Neville stammered, turning even redder. “Please, may I?” he asked Eponine and Enjolras.

“I s’pose it would do nicely, as long as you are both on time,” Eponine replied. ‘ _Anyway, the Calamys will chaperone them,’_ she reminded herself.

“I trust you will manage your time,” Enjolras added, nodding at Neville. “He also does some work for one of the professors, and helps run a laboratory,” he explained to his parents once almost all the children save for Etienne had trooped out of the dining room to finish preparing for the school day.

Monique’s jaw dropped at these words. “For shame, Antoine!” she scolded. “He’s only seventeen and should be out and about, enjoying himself instead of cooped up at a job!”

“Neville was the one who volunteered to work,” Eponine pointed out. “It isn’t as if he is needed at the laboratory every single day of the week.”

“Having a good occupation will steady Neville and keep him out of the scrapes that many boys his age get into,” Louis reassured Monique. “It is also a means of enriching his learning.”

Monique clucked her tongue as she set down her coffee. “What would that pretty young lady of his say, if he has no time to woo her?”

“I s’pose they will sort it out between them,” Eponine said, now feeling eager to change the topic. ‘ _I know that we did,’_ she thought as she exchanged a knowing look with her own husband.

Enjolras nodded almost imperceptibly to her before he looked at his parents once more. “How long will you two be in Paris?”

“We’re leaving the day after tomorrow,” Monique said. “For certain we shall be back before Christmas, and now that you both have mentioned it, we should come up here in March as well.”

“My dear, I do need to man the estate, and you hate traveling alone,” Louis quipped, earning him a scowl from his wife. He took a sip of coffee even as he eyed his son and his daughter-in-law. “If there is anything you two need, especially with another child coming, do let us know.”

“Thank you,” Eponine said, sitting back even as the conversation now turned to other topics such as the news and other family gossip. At length she began to gather up the plates to carry them through to the kitchen, only to notice Monique doing the same. “You don’t have to,” she insisted gently as she put the dishes down.

“You do the same whenever you’re in Aix,” Monique replied. She sighed deeply as she looked Eponine over. “I hope that Antoine does help you out with managing this place, especially in your condition.”

“He does more than enough, Monique. Today’s one of those few mornings when I’m not feeling like my stomach will reject every bit of breakfast, so on most days lately, he’s really the one who gets all the children up and about,” Eponine said, scraping a plate clean of crumbs. “Then when I feel more up to it, I take over.”

“That sounds like a good arrangement,” Monique said more lightly. “Are you hoping to have another little girl this time?”

“I s’pose getting through the next few months with little trouble and having a healthy baby at the end of it is all I can ask for,” Eponine replied. As close as she was to her mother-in-law, she was not one to confide in her the recurring thread of her dreams. “But you do mean it that you will be up here again soon?”

“We shall try; I shall make Louis arrange his affairs. I am still so sorry that I was not there to help you out when Etienne was born; until now I cannot believe that Antoine had to _help_ you with the delivery,” Monique said with a shudder.

Eponine snorted at the memory of that rainy spring day, when she’d suddenly gone into labor with only Laure and Julien at home. “He does not scare so easily,” she said proudly.

“As always. I am thankful though that it was you that he married; I can only imagine what would have become of him if he’d married one of those chits from Aix like that Celeste Berlioz,” Monique whispered.

‘ _Antoine would never tell her what Citizenness Berlioz did to him in Zaragoza,’_ Eponine thought even as she nearly dropped a spoon into a basin of water. She bit her lip even as she vaguely heard Monique and then Louis take their leave, promising to be at the dinner later. ‘ _Neither of them would believe such a thing could happen to him,’_ she thought even as she continued cleaning the dishes, now and then listening in to Enjolras’ attempts at keeping Etienne entertained. After she had all the plates and cutlery set out to dry, she kicked off her shoes and tiptoed into the dining room just in time to see Enjolras scooping up a now slightly cranky Etienne. “I s’pose he’s gotten himself over tired,” she quipped.

“Yes. He should be fine after a nap,” Enjolras said, patting the toddler’s back to soothe him. “Shall we?”

Eponine grinned before grabbing his arm to lead them both to the study. By now the sun was bright in the sky, lending much light to their shared working space. She sat at her desk while Enjolras set Etienne down to sleep on the chaise. Before she could pull Enjolras’ chair out for him, she suddenly saw him buttoning up his coat. “Are you heading out?”

“To find some newspapers at the Place Saint-Andre,” he replied, dropping a kiss on her forehead. “I will be back soon.”

“I’ll see you later,” she called after him as he left the study. “That stubborn man, really!” she whispered, knowing all too well what was likely to occupy her husband’s mind for most of the day. In the meantime, all she could do was focus back on her own work, which for today entailed some translations she’d promised her friends.

Just as she was finished with drafting several pages, she heard the front door opening, followed by Enjolras’ footsteps. “What did you find?” she asked him worriedly.

“Hardly anything,” Enjolras said, showing a sheaf of broadsheets that he had picked up. “I do not know how much Belmont would be able to divulge given his current situation. Perhaps the de Polignacs would know more.”

“Didn’t Citizen Belmont say they were on the move?”

“Yes. I do fear that their move and this development are connected.”

Eponine bit her lip as she watched Enjolras sit next to her, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Not everything is as straightforward as debating with the Williamsons about workers’ rights like with what happened in Vernon last week.” She took his hand and ran her thumb over his wrist, lingering over his pulse point. “You yourself said that Spain was full of complications and intrigue.”

“I had hoped that General Espartero would take a broader view of matters, and perhaps prevent the unnecessary destruction of life and limb,” Enjolras explained ruefully. “However, he is a military man, and he will not be gainsaid by civilians.”

“What makes him so different from say, Lafayette?”

“A myriad of things, such as the difference between a war and a revolution. Lafayette figured in three revolutions in his lifetime, for better and for worse. Everything that Espartero has done has involved a war of some sort, and at least one coup. Lafayette could lead and march with the people, while Espartero, as popular as he is, is still at the mercy of a queen-to-be and her kin.”

Eponine winced at this even as she let go of Enjolras’ hand so that they could both get to work at their respective desks. After a while, as she set some pages out to dry, she looked to her right only to find Enjolras avidly reading through a rather lengthy document. She quietly pushed back her seat and went up behind him just to wrap her arms around his shoulders. It was all she could do to keep a straight face as she felt some knots under her hands, prompting her to press and rub on them till she felt him relax once more. “You don’t have to do that now,” she whispered in his ear.

“That is true, but I do like the quiet,” Enjolras deadpanned. He took her scarred left hand and kissed it before looking at her warmly. “You’re more than I could ever ask for, Eponine. Thank you.”

‘ _How does he always manage to do that, even after all this time?’_ Eponine wondered, pressing her now flushed cheek against his shoulder even as she felt a smile spreading across her face.


	32. Proposing Outrage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw for Thenardier

Although it was not the first time that Enjolras had ever been a guest of honor at a formal occasion, he still felt something of a pit in his stomach even as he and Eponine prepared later that evening for the testimonial dinner. “Around how many people are expected to be there?” he asked as he buttoned up his red waistcoat.

“You’ll see!” Eponine replied cheerily while she brushed out her still damp hair. “It won’t be for too long; it probably will not go past nine or ten in the evening. We all have work tomorrow.”

“That will not stop some of the younger lawyers from showing up a little inebriated in court tomorrow,” Enjolras pointed out as he found a fresh white cravat. He did this up in a rather understated knot, adjusting it so that it would not dig into his neck. ‘ _The better not to draw further attention to one’s self,’_ he decided silently.

In the meantime, Eponine had already donned her chemise and was now tying on her corset a bit more loosely than she would normally have. “Everyone seems to ask if we’re hoping for a little girl,” she remarked as she adjusted the lacing to better accommodate the bump of her stomach. “I s’pose people think it will balance things out for Laure or help her become more ladylike.”

“Does that ever really happen with sisters?” Enjolras asked her curiously.

“I don’t think so. I mean I wouldn’t know with Azelma and me since we are so close in age, it was almost like having a twin,” Eponine said as she went to get a dress from their closet. “Whatever I did, she did, at least till that time we both were released from jail after that awful ambuscade. Then we went more of our own ways---and you know the rest of it!”

“Indeed,” Enjolras concurred as he began putting on a dark colored coat before combing out his hair. When he looked at Eponine again his mouth went dry at the sight of her in an emerald green gown that was cut in the latest silhouette to show off her shoulders, but still flowed most elegantly over her curves. For a moment he was silent, committing this sight to memory even as he went over to her. “Is that new?” he asked.

“Nicholine made it for me and I picked it up a few days ago,” she said, smiling knowingly at him as she brought his hands to her waist. “I s’pose you like it?”

“It suits you,” he replied a little hoarsely, seeing Eponine blush a little at his words. He gripped her hips, if only to keep from bringing his hands up to run through her hair, which she still wore down, or even from unfastening her dress entirely. “Do you have any more surprises planned for tonight?” 

“That might depend on how the rest of it goes,” Eponine quipped, stepping away now so she could put on her silver necklace and then begin pinning up her hair. “Could you please make sure that the children aren’t getting themselves into a mess?”

“They’ve been quiet a little too long, so that point is moot,” Enjolras said, quickly picking up his wallet, a handkerchief and his pocket watch. Downstairs, he found Jacques and Laure trying to wipe Etienne’s face, which was streaked with peach jam, while Julien was wiping his own hands on his trousers. “I see that some of you have spoiled your dinner,” he said as he went to take charge of the situation.

“I’m hungry and I want fruit,” Etienne protested, squirming away from his siblings. “Papa, can we eat?”

“Not for some time yet, Tienne,” Enjolras said before looking to his older son. “Did you wash your hands already, Julien?”

Julien nodded. “And I washed the spoon too, for the jam!”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face as he already pictured what the two boys had been up to. As he wiped down Etienne’s face and hands, he saw that Jacques was pouting petulantly. “What is the matter?” he asked.

“He’s sad that he couldn’t just go to the party the way Neville will later,” Laure said in a sing-song voice.

Jacques gave Laure an irritated glance before looking at Enjolras. “It isn’t fair. Why were you so strict with me in Spain, while you are lenient with Neville here in Paris?” he whined.

“We were on a diplomatic mission months ago and that required caution, even a little distance. Neville’s situation is significantly different, but he still has to comport himself properly as well as be responsible about his doings,” Enjolras reasoned sternly.

“I’m only two years younger!”

“It is not a matter of years, but prudence.”

Just then, Laure jumped up. “Maman! You look so pretty!” she chirped.

“Thank you so much, Laure,” Eponine said as she descended the last steps of the staircase, looping a small purse around her gloved wrist to hold some coins for their fare. “I s’pose we have more than enough time to get to the party; it’s just at the Etoile des Elysees, and we should get there quickly if we go by the way of the Invalides?” she asked Enjolras.

“The omnibuses will be full coming this way towards the Invalides, so we have to take a fiacre,” Enjolras pointed out. Oftentimes this was the most troublesome part of travelling throughout Paris, especially in the evening after the last of the omnibuses had plied their routes for the day. ‘ _Hopefully we will not have to walk too far on the way home,’_ he thought as they headed out to find a carriage near the Marche Saint-Germain.

As it turned out, the dinner was to be held at the large house of one of his colleagues residing right on the Etoile des Elysees, just a stone’s throw from the Avenue des Champs Elysees. Enjolras raised an eyebrow on seeing a good many carriages, including some from the diplomatic corps, lined up all along the street. “Is this just a dinner, or is this approaching some sort of fete?” he asked Eponine.

“I s’pose something in between,” Eponine said as the carriage came to a stop near the house’s gate. She peered out the window and waved at two figures waiting in the garden. “Charlesette! Armand!”

Charlesette grinned as she unbolted the gate to let the family in. “Now we can get the festivities started; Maurice is on his toes getting everything in order inside,” she greeted, smoothing down her pink dress. “You look absolutely stunning, Eponine!”

“Thank you,” Eponine said. She looked over her friend appreciatively. “And you’re the one making that lovely gown fashionable, Charlesette.”

Armand hopped up to Enjolras and grinned up at him. “Happy birthday Uncle. How old are you already?” he greeted.

“Thirty-six,” Enjolras replied.

Armand scratched his head. “That’s not too terribly old, just a bit older than Papa,” he quipped before suddenly being tackled by Laure and Julien in a hug.

“Everyone’s brought their little ones too; you should see Cosette running around after hers,” Charlesette said as she began to usher them into the house. “By the way where is Neville?”

“On some gallantry of his own,” Enjolras deadpanned. ‘ _I’ll have to discuss this over again with Jacques later,’_ he thought, seeing the boy’s slightly crestfallen mien. He took a deep breath as he finally stepped into the house’s brightly lit main hall; there were tables set up everywhere to accommodate what appeared to be nearly all his colleagues from the Palais de Justice and their families, as well as other friends and acquaintances from all over. At one long table he espied Lamarre, LeClerc and other faces from the Home Office, while several other tables were occupied by Combeferre, Jean Prouvaire, Feuilly, Bahorel, Bossuet, Joly, Grantaire, and Marius, along with their respective families.

“There he is, the man of the hour!” Bahorel cheered, raising a glass. “Come sit with us!”

“For a time,” Enjolras deadpanned. Even if he was expected to mingle during this celebration, it was at least good to have someplace to sit during the evening’s lull moments. Nevertheless it was all he could do not to ask Feuilly regarding the developments he had heard regarding the refugees in Marseille, especially since the diplomat seemed engrossed in some thread of thought. “Where is Courfeyrac?” Enjolras asked once the greetings had died down and everyone was seated.

“Running about like a headless chicken; he’ll be glad to see you’ve finally arrived,” Marius chimed in, bending only to keep his son Jean from pulling the tablecloth onto himself. “The Williamsons send their regrets; they will not be joining us this evening.”

“After that nice scene in Vernon, I highly doubt it,” Bossuet said. “So much for their English miasma, at least it does not ruin the business.”

“What happened at Vernon anyway, and why is it that I keep hearing of you two being involved in it?” Azelma chimed in, looking from Enjolras to Eponine.

“I’ll explain it,” Eponine volunteered. “We went up there to tour the Williamsons, that’s this English couple, around that lovely workshop there. Apparently the way that things are done in England, or at least in Manchester, is not as nice to workers as it is here in France.”

“Not as nice?”

“Can you believe they have to work as early as before dawn, even in winter? I know that’s how it _used_ to be here, but it isn’t the case anymore.”

“Not to mention the many accidents that happen in factories, as well as foremen beating or dragging the workers, even by their hair!” Cosette added. “Father made it clear that anyone doing that in Vernon would not be allowed in the workshop anymore, and it did actually happen.”

“I doubt we shall be partnering with them any time soon,” Marius concluded. “Something better will present itself.”

“As it should,” Musichetta said. “You’re all too good to be working with people like that.”

“Actually, the lady, Mrs. Williamson, is rather agreeable. I am not so sure about the gentleman, even if he was a big help to us in England,” Claudine reflected. “I guess one acts differently abroad, or at least when confronted with the unfamiliar.”

“What is so unfamiliar about doing things decently? If he had done his reading, he would see that the rate of accidents related to workplace hazards has become an increasing concern not just in France or England, but throughout the continent,” Joly said, pausing to blow his nose. “Perhaps you and I should do a publication about it, Combeferre,” he added, looking to his colleague.

Enjolras smiled to himself even as the discussion at the table quickly enlivened around this topic, before moving on to the general politics of relations between England and France. At that moment he caught sight of Gavroche hurrying up with Navet in tow. “Good of you to also join us,” he greeted.

“Ah, just wishing you well. You’ve got all the swells in here, and there’s no air in the room,” Gavroche quipped, scooping up Julien in one arm and his other nephew Maximillien Prouvaire in the other. Even now he dressed more jauntily than many of the young men present, with his top hat set at an angle. “You’re missing one of the big _momes_. Has he gone swooning as I hear?”

“Gavroche, be nice. It’s going to be his first time escorting a lady to something like this,” Eponine admonished her brother. “Neville doesn’t swoon by the way, so don’t let him hear you say that tonight.”

“He’d better not, as he can’t prop himself up with that wooden leg of his,” Gavroche said.

Navet elbowed his friend. “Look sharp, he’s here!”

“He’s with that young Citizenness Wright. She looks much improved,” Nicholine Grantaire chimed in. “And with the Calamys too, my word!”

Enjolras looked to see Admiral Peter Calamy and Victoria entering the room only to be quickly greeted and pulled into the circle of diplomats with Lamarre and LeClerc. Following soon after them were Neville and Ariadne. The younger couple were dressed in a more understated fashion; Neville had his best suit on but his cravat was not tied in the same flamboyant fashion so common to his contemporaries. Ariadne looked much healthier than she had been several weeks ago, but she had yet to lose her slightly nervous mien and her way of clutching onto Neville’s arm.

“I’ll take charge of this,” Eponine whispered in Enjolras’ ear before going to meet Neville and Ariadne. For a moment it seemed as if the young couple would stay by the wall or sit with the Calamys, but soon they went with Eponine to join the large group.

“Ah so you are the famous Ariadne Wright,” Leonor, Feuilly’s wife, said dryly after all the proper introductions were made. “Does your mother know you’re here?”

“Citizenness Wright the elder is on her own business,” Eponine said thinly to the Basque woman. She also looked pointedly at Gavroche, who looked as if he was trying to hold in a funny retort. “Ariadne is here in Paris to stay.”

“Under your guardianship?” Leonor asked.

“The Calamys over there; they are an English couple we befriended some time back,” Musichetta chimed in. She smiled more warmly at Ariadne. “I’m not sure if we’ve been properly introduced, but you can call me Citizenness Joly, or simply Musichetta.”

Ariadne nodded slowly. “Are you really all Neville’s aunts and uncles?”

“In a manner of speaking; they all helped raise me and my siblings, and I grew up with everyone’s children,” Neville explained. “It’s rather fun.”

“I wouldn’t know, Neville. I do not have cousins.”

Even as Enjolras motioned for Neville and Ariadne to take a seat, he noticed Courfeyrac now on the large staircase of this room; this place was decked out with garlands and streamers to form a sort of stage. ‘ _How will he be heard from there?’_ he wondered even as he also saw servers bringing out platters of roast meats, breads, and tureens of soup.

Courfeyrac nodded to an older magistrate before clearing his throat. “Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Now I am sure that we are all eager to begin feasting, but let us take a moment to acknowledge our guest of honor. Even before distinguishing himself as one of our city’s finest prosecutors, he has already been renowned as a legislator, one of the framers of our Constitution, an author of several important legal texts and precedents----and with still more to come. Everyone let us welcome our esteemed friend and colleague Antoine Enjolras!” he said, gesturing to his friend.

Enjolras stood up briefly, feeling his cheeks growing warm even as thunderous applause swept through the room. He glanced at Eponine as she discreetly squeezed his hand. “Yes?”

“They’re all proud of you, Antoine. I hope you see that,” Eponine whispered with a smile.

“Enjolras, come join us for a while!” Jerome Bamatabois greeted as he sauntered up to the table. “Even Charles Jeanne has deigned to join us this evening.”

“I see,” Enjolras said, recognizing the name of this fellow former legislator. He nodded to his family and friends, knowing it would be a while till he would return to their table. “Excuse me.”

“Can I come too, Papa?” Laure asked, hopping off her seat.

“Not this time, _petite_ ,” Enjolras said calmly before going off with Bamatabois to meet their former colleagues seated near the middle of the room. He tipped his hat to Jeanne, who was sipping a glass of wine. “It is good to see you once again, old friend,” he said.

“And you as well. I hear that from domestic affairs, you’ve set your sights on international ones?” Jeanne greeted wryly. The spindly gentleman had more gray in his hair than ever, but had lost nothing of his authoritative mien of days gone by.

“Only because they are inextricably linked,” Enjolras replied. “How does your advocacy go in the ateliers?”

“With its ups and downs, but quiet now!” Jeanne said. “Look who’s going to give a speech!”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face even as he saw Bamatabois now going to the stairs, unfolding a paper as he went. “So it begins,” he muttered, some part of him now wishing that people would not be looking his way even while his friend was speaking. He waited for Bamatabois to finish with his speech and for the applause to die down before nodding to his friend by way of thanks and then moving on to meet other colleagues at another table. For the next few minutes he proceeded in this manner of greeting his friends and acquaintances in between the speeches, which were delivered by representatives from various groups and tables. At some point he saw his parents also enter the room, where they made a beeline for to sit with Eponine and the rest of their family. ‘ _There will be a time for such a word,’_ he decided even as he took his leave of one group and began making his way back to his preferred seat.

It was at that juncture that Combeferre now rose amid much applause. He was a little pink in the face as he drew a paper out of his pocket and nodded to Courfeyrac. “Wish me luck here,” he whispered before turning to address the crowd. “It is not every day that one meets, much less befriends, men who are both strong as well as earnest---sometimes that combination fails to prosper in one being. I have had the honor, or even the pleasure of considering as one of my closest companions, almost a brother, our dear friend here. I was a young man, or much younger than I am now, when I first met Citizen Enjolras during our first years in Paris. We carried with us books to hopefully guide us, and dreams to illuminate the way. I will not bore you with the history of the years that happened after, only that he bore those years admirably and with more fortitude and courage than I have seen in most men. His commitment to his ideals, his unyielding principles have not softened these years, but have expanded to encompass a vision of light that is not only for France but is for all of Europe. I am gladdened to witness throughout the years how he has become not only a great man, but a good one---a steadfast friend, an esteemed colleague and mentor, an honorable son, and a true husband and father. To the best of friends, dearer than most brothers, I am deeply grateful for all you are and all you will be. I wish you nothing but the best that the coming years can give you. To Antoine Enjolras!”

Enjolras met Combeferre’s eye and nodded to him with a smile even as the latter stepped down from the stairs. “Who am I to contradict you, dear friend,” he said as they rejoined their friends at their table. “Thank you.”

“It was the earnest truth,” Combeferre said, turning even more pink. Yet even as he said this he saw that Marius and Cosette were talking furtively. “What seems to be the problem?”

“A very large one,” Cosette said distractedly before turning towards Marius again. “Marius, I love you with all my heart, but I must know what exactly you told your aunt about tonight.”

“That it was meant for the lawyers and magistrates of the Palais de Justice, and their families,” Marius blustered. “But what is it then?”

Cosette grabbed his arm. “I wish you’d been more specific, since look who she’s brought with her!”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed as he looked to the doorway and now saw Celestine Gillenormand entering the room, her arm linked through none other than Thenardier’s. He looked to Eponine, whose lips were drawn in a taut line, before nodding to Neville and Jacques. “Bring the little ones to the back. Maximillien too,” he ordered, noticing his nephew also seated nearby.

Jean Prouvaire got to his feet and nodded to Gavroche and Azelma. “We have to bring him out,” he said. “He’s not about to disrupt this party---”

“Marius, aren’t you going to greet your aunt?” Celestine Gillenormand scolded. “Don’t forget of course our fine guest here!”

“Yes, and I have come to wish my son-in-law a happy birthday!” Thenardier said, holding out his arms. He was dressed in a new dark blue suit with a clean shirt, an attire that he did not seem accustomed to wear judging by his stiff posture. “Embrace your father-in-law, boy!”

“I hardly think it seemly,” Enjolras said stiffly. “I do not recall your being invited.”

Thenardier clucked his tongue before laying eyes on Monique and Louis. “And you must be his parents! How good of you to come to celebrate with your son!”

“You must be Citizen Thenardier,” Louis said, offering his hand but with little warmth in his blue eyes. “Finally we meet.”

“Ah my daughter has forgotten her manners, and forgotten to introduce me to her in-laws. And it took nine years!” Thenardier said, shaking his head with mock dismay. “What have you to say to that, my girl?”

Eponine was pale as she got to her feet. “Nothing. Only that you have to leave. I helped make the list for this party, and we do not have a place for you.”

Thenardier looked her over slowly and a twisted smile played across his lips. “I see you did not even think to inform your dear Papa that he is to have another grandchild. Why would you not tell him, unless you had something to hide?”

“That is enough,” Enjolras snapped, now squaring up to the elderly man. “I believe that it is you who have forgotten your manners, Citizen.”

“You know what they say young man, mother’s baby but father’s maybe,” Thenardier sneered. “I know she’s been in England, boy. Don’t tell me you don’t suspect a thing,” he added in an undertone, glancing once again at his eldest child.

“Eponine is a good girl, and of course she kept her sense and bearing about her while abroad,” Monique cut in, smiling coolly at Thenardier. “Your wife must have been quite the saint to have raised her well!” 

‘ _That she was not,’_ Enjolras thought, willing himself to keep a straight face even as he saw Gavroche, Neville and Jacques shrugging while Jean Prouvaire and Azelma looked down in a bid to conceal their laughter. The rest of the group was not much better, and he was sure that he heard Grantaire actually titter. He locked eyes momentarily with Eponine, who had sat down once again. “I believe you have said enough,” he said to Thenardier.

Celestine Gillenormand glared at him and then at Marius. “You would not dare. Not in front of all these people!”

“I certainly shall,” Enjolras said, only to see Thenardier suddenly dart away from Gavroche’s attempt to pin him down. Much to his horror he saw Thenardier make for the stairs, nearly shoving aside Courfeyrac and the next guest coming up to speak. ‘ _What is he going to do?’_

Thenardier grinned as all the guests now looked at him with astonishment. “Good evening, my ladies and gentlemen. I heard that this was a family occasion, and here I am to celebrate with my honored son-in-law.” He glanced at Enjolras before continuing. “Tonight, I have received the great news that I am to be a grandfather again. Just imagine that! And seeing this in public too! Well this night has made my heart full, and I would like to announce that we will be having another addition to our family party, one springing from the love in my heart.”

The former innkeeper got down on one knee and looked now at Celestine Gillenormand. “My dearest Citizenness Gillenormand, you have turned this old man of winter into one of spring! Will you do me the honor of becoming my lovely wedded wife?”

All eyes now turned to Celestine Gillenormand, whose shocked expression was now being replaced by a beatific smile across her wrinkled face. “Yes!”


	33. A Household Divided

“I s’pose I was right about one thing: it all did end around nine in the evening.”

“What an end it was indeed.”

The vitriol in this curt reply made Eponine wince even as she tried to keep up with Enjolras while they walked across the Pont des Invalides, in hopes of finding a fiacre closer to the Champ de Mars or the Invalides. ‘ _At least Jacques, Neville, and Ariadne had enough sense to get the little ones out of the room and sent on home before everything turned into a rumpus,’_ she thought, rubbing her arms against the sudden night chill emanating from the Seine. She bit her lip as she looked at Enjolras again, seeing that his jaw was set in that way she had only seen a few times in their years together. “Antoine?”

“I would rather not talk about it, Eponine,” Enjolras said, his tone level but with a terseness in his intonation. “Not now at least.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Eponine muttered, pausing to let a cart pass by as they came in sight of the gardens of the Invalides. Now that they had put some distance between them and that ill-fated house, she found that her headache was ebbing but she could not quite say the same for the heaviness she felt on her shoulders. ‘ _Not after the way that Azelma fainted through it all, and Citizenness Gillenormand made that scene,’_ she told herself. The very thought of having the spinster as her stepmother had her tasting bile at the back of her throat, but she swallowed back the nauseous feeling even as she at last saw a fiacre coming around a corner. The entire ride to 9 Rue Guisarde was silent, and it was only as the carriage turned the last corner into the street that Eponine dared to touch Enjolras’ hand. She sighed with relief when she felt his fingers intertwine with hers as they came in sight of the still brightly lit house, where Neville and Jacques were seated on the front step, in their shirtsleeves.

Neville stood up first with an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry if we arrived only now; I had to get Ariadne back to the Invalides with the Calamys, while Jacques waited with Maximillien at till Jehan and Azelma also came home too.”

Enjolras nodded as he doffed his hat. “You did the right thing. Thank you, boys.”

“Maman? Papa? Are you home?” Laure called from inside the house. Everyone turned to see the little girl, barefoot and clad in a nightshirt, now coming down the stairs. “I can’t sleep.”

“You have to, _petite_. You have classes rather early in the morning,” Enjolras said, crouching to look at her.

Laure shook her head. “I’m scared, Papa. What did that horrible man do that made you, Uncle Jehan, and even Gavroche so angry? Was it because of the kissing after?”

“No, it was because he said some things that no one should do at a party that one isn’t invited to,” Enjolras said after a moment. “In short he was not polite.”

“A lot of people are rude, but you don’t get angry like that,” Laure pointed out confusedly as she scratched her head. “Not ever.”

“It’s a little complicated, my darling,” Eponine reasoned, seeing that Laure was beginning to yawn. ‘ _I really hope that she does not ask too many questions about that,’_ she thought as she hugged Laure before handing the little girl off to her father. She sighed deeply as she looked at Neville and Jacques once more. “I s’pose it was good that you boys made it clear that he won’t have some claim on you.”

“It still makes Citizenness Gillenormand a sort of aunt or something. It’s related even if I don’t want to imagine it after what they did tonight after the proposal,” Jacques said with revulsion. “How are we supposed to explain that?”

“I am not sure, and I hope we never have to,” Eponine replied. ‘ _There has to be some way to put a stop to this mess, if it isn’t some horrible joke,’_ she thought as she bid the two youngsters goodnight and then went upstairs in turn.

When she went into the younger children’s room, she saw Enjolras already tucking in a sleeping Laure. “That went quickly,” she whispered as she kicked off her shoes.

“She’s had a long day,” Enjolras said in an undertone as he adjusted the blankets around Laure’s shoulders. “The boys hardly stirred either.”

Eponine went over to check on Julien, who had his face buried in a pillow as he was wont to do while sleeping. ‘ _At least it looks as if Antoine tucked him in,’_ she thought as she kissed his forehead and then also went to do likewise to Etienne. Yet when she looked back she realized that Enjolras had quit the room and his footsteps were headed towards the stairs. ‘ _Does he seriously believe what my father had to say?’_ she wondered worriedly as she rushed after him.

She found him sitting in the kitchen, already setting a pot of coffee to boil. “Did you intend to spend all night working instead, Antoine?” she asked, willing herself to brave the smell.

Enjolras looked at her momentarily. “I need to get things off my mind before I can rest.”

“Not like this. You know this cannot be fixed, not in one evening at least,” she pointed out, now sitting next to him. She rubbed his shoulders, feeling the knots of his muscles to be tighter than they were earlier that day. “About what my father said concerning me, you know it isn’t true.”

“Not a single word of it,” Enjolras said, now looking at her more steadily. “I’m only angry that it was not I who set him straight, but my mother. I should have spoken sooner.”

“You did what you should though, which was to actually eject him. Even if loudly.”

“It does not stop all of Paris from hearing about it tomorrow. There will be much for both of us to clear up.”

Eponine bit her lip, already imagining the whispers and questions the next day in the Palais de Justice as well as other quarters. “I think it is now clear why we have nothing to do with him.”

“A blind man can perceive that, perhaps even a deaf one too if reason and other senses are present,” Enjolras pointed out. “What is not as easily divined is his reason for such a drastic move.”

“Perhaps he was sure of her. She is a lonely woman.”

“Many a man has married for less, or for meaner. Many a woman as well.”

“It is simple then, it’s only her money,” Eponine pointed out. She wrinkled her nose as the smell of coffee now filled the air, but much to her relief the aroma did not nauseate her as much as it did that morning. She paused to fill a cup of coffee for Enjolras before getting a glass of water for herself. “We all know that Citizenness Gillenormand has inherited a good fortune from her mother’s family, and she was supposed to pass this to Marius and Cosette.”

“In the absence of a spouse—but even the presence of one does not automatically guarantee that a sou would pass into his hands,” Enjolras reflected. “Especially under the present iteration of our civil code and property laws.”

“Which is why we are as we are: both of us holding things in common instead of giving you control over it all,” Eponine said as she handed him the coffee cup. “Do you s’pose then that he has another reason for this?”

“Perhaps, especially considering that he is only making this move at present, when he could have done so several years earlier.” Enjolras took a long sip of the coffee, his eyes growing deep with a thoughtful expression that Eponine knew only too well. “More than wealth then, what he would want is a place of influence.”

“Influence? How would he have that with marrying Citizenness Gillenormand when she is not even a participant in anything political? All her life is in the churches.”

“It isn’t what she does, it is who she knows. Perhaps, who she comes in sight of during the course of her daily orisons.”

“How would anyone of that sort help him there?” Eponine asked, pausing to also sip some water. “Apart from priests and nuns, the only ones who frequent Saint-Sulpice and other parishes are the wealthy sort who could probably sound him out the way that you and Marius have done time and again?”

“Yes, if he came to them with the story of a beggar. He would have another effect if he approached them with a good marriage and a secure place that would inspire confidence.”

“Confidence so people will lay their trust in him, and probably money as well?”

“Among other things,” Enjolras said as he set down his cup. “I highly doubt that in the short time since his release from prison that he has rekindled his social connections above and below Paris. This move of a hasty marriage might just be his only lifeline.”

Eponine winced, remembering Thenardier’s brutal words of a few weeks ago in this very house. “If he had not tried to have Gavroche and me killed two years ago, I s’pose I might have given him some more help. Do you think I should have?” she asked softly.

“What reason would you have for that?”

“He is my father after all?”

Enjolras shook his head before raising her chin so that their eyes met. “Neither law nor reason obligate you to, Eponine. I am also aware that when it comes to him, you have no sentiment apart from a vague nostalgia for how your parents were when you were a young girl. That is hardly enough to move anyone towards kindness or benevolence, no matter what he says.”

‘ _He’s right about that, no matter how terribly he puts it,’_ Eponine thought, managing a smile before she drained her glass of water. “I s’pose after all the fuss dies down, we should figure out what he’s up to, and try to get poor Citizenness Gillenormand out of it,” she mused.

“If we wait for the former, we might not have time for the latter,” he said, also finishing his coffee. “I’ll have a word with Pontmercy this week about it.”

“I’ll do it tomorrow, Antoine.” She clasped his hand, feeling him relax even more under her touch. “You already will have quite a lot to do at the Palais de Justice, especially with what’s happened tonight.”

“That is true.” Enjolras drew her in for a kiss, lingering when she finally smiled against his lips. “I’ll see you later, upstairs?”

“Now is more like it,” Eponine insisted, pulling him closer even as she now felt the mood shift from tentative to that sensual fire she never tired of between them. She whined with protest when he stood up, only to suddenly feel his arms sweeping her off her feet. “You know that everyone is asleep, or should be,” she pointed out even as she began to undo his cravat.

“The second is more like it,” Enjolras quipped, adjusting his hold on her before kissing her again and then carrying her up to their bedroom.

After all the chaos of the evening, it was all too easy for them to give themselves over to each other and their shared passion. It was past midnight when at last they fell asleep in each other’s arms, sated yet exhausted from the tumultuous events. When Eponine woke again, it was already just after dawn, and she could already feel that all too familiar nausea creeping up on her. ‘ _I should be over this in a few weeks,’_ she told herself bravely even as she turned to look at Enjolras, who was still deep in slumber. She smiled slightly on seeing that he looked less drawn and haggard compared to the night before. ‘ _He’ll need his strength for what’s to come,’_ she thought before kissing his cheek. “Good morning Antoine,” she whispered when he murmured something incoherently and inched closer to her.

Enjolras cracked a drowsy smile before opening his eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

“You made sure of it,” she whispered before kissing him deeply, pouring this time into it all the tenderness and affection that she wished had been more apparent at that disastrous gathering. She pulled away only when she felt the urge to retch become suddenly too great, thus prompting her to twist about and grab the basin by their bed. “Sorry. It’s not about you,” she murmured embarrassedly when she felt his hands pulling her hair back.

“I know. Are you sure you feel up to going to the Marais today?” he asked, rubbing the back of her neck.

“I have to at least try,” Eponine said once the worst of the nausea had passed. “If Marius is at the courts today, you’ll have the pleasure of dealing with him yourself.”

“I would hardly call such discussions pleasurable, especially when they touch on kith and kin,” Enjolras deadpanned before kissing her forehead and then helping her out of bed. It did not take them long to get the rest of their household ready for the day, after which most of the youngsters headed to school while Enjolras went for a morning hearing at the Palais de Justice. As for Eponine, she put some finished translations into a bag before bundling up Etienne to bring him to the Prouvaires on the Rue de Conde. After dropping off her finished work at the Place Saint-Andre, she took a short omnibus trip to the other side of the Seine, before switching to another omnibus that brought her into the Marais.

When she arrived at 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire, she could hear raised voices even from outside the door. ‘ _Cosette and Marius in a row?’_ she wondered worriedly as she knocked on the door. Much to her surprise it was little Lucille Pontmercy who opened the door, having stood on tiptoe to do so. “Lucille, it’s me your Aunt Ponine. I need to speak to your Maman,” she greeted.

Lucille looked worriedly to her father’s office. “She’s inside, Auntie. Why are they shouting?”

Eponine sighed as she gathered the obviously shaken child up but before she could bring Lucille into the drawing room or somewhere else away from the argument, she saw Cosette storming out of Marius’ study. “What’s happened?” she asked, seeing her friend’s eyes red and wild from crying.

Cosette sniffled before taking Lucille from Eponine’s arms and kissing her forehead. “Go watch your brother for me, Lu,” she whispered before sending the little girl upstairs. She then sat down heavily on the steps and buried her face in her hands. “I cannot believe it, Ponine.”

“About last night? I don’t think anyone can,” Eponine said, going to sit by her friend. To her surprise Cosette bawled and sobbed into her shoulder, thoroughly soaking her shawl. Eponine grabbed her friend’s arm to steady her till her weeping had calmed down into sniffles once more. “You’ve got to tell me what’s going on, Cosette. Was it Marius’ aunt being terrible again?”

Cosette shook her head. “That’s how it started, but it isn’t the problem. She wants Citizen Thenardier to live here after their marriage!”

Eponine’s jaw dropped. “No, he can’t! It’s not even his house, how could he? And you live here with Marius and the children!”

“That’s what I told Marius, but how’s he going to ever stand up to his aunt?” Cosette asked, wiping her face. “I won’t have it, Ponine. I won’t have him near my children. I’d rather die than let him lay a hand on them or worse.”

“Can’t they just find someplace else to live after their wedding, while you and Marius take care of his grandfather?”

“The house belongs more to her. We love Grandfather, but I cannot forget that he once asked Marius to leave all those years ago.”

‘ _Probably one of the best things that old man ever did,’_ Eponine thought, biting her lip to keep from voicing out this thought. “Then maybe it’s time you were mistress of your own home, Cosette. Surely there’s a place you can go,” she said, gripping her friend’s arm.

“The Rue Plumet, even if it wasn’t a refuge at present, cannot hold all of us properly. Our other apartments are even smaller and are also shelters now.” Cosette shook her head. “I will need time to find a proper house to stay in.”

“Just you, and not Marius too?” Eponine asked aloud. She swallowed hard when she saw Cosette’s face crumple. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said---”

“No, it was what _I_ said to him,” Cosette admitted, wiping her face with her sleeve. “I told him that I’d do what I had to just to keep the children safe even if it means leaving this house and making his relatives displeased with me. I don’t know if he is willing to risk that, you know how he is. I wish Papa was here to help me figure out what to do!”

“If your father was alive, I s’pose this would never happen,” Eponine pointed out. She pulled a handkerchief out of her pocket and handed it to Cosette. “You can’t let Lucille and Jean see you like this. I’ll go deal with Marius,” she said before standing up and walking quickly to the lawyer’s office before her friend could protest.

She knocked twice on the door and hardly waited for any acknowledgment before pushing the door open. “Marius Pontmercy! How could you do such a thing?” she asked loudly.

Marius, who’d been writing something, nearly toppled his inkwell. “Eponine! What are you doing here? Did Enjolras send you over?”

“He knows I planned to call on you, but that’s not really material. I had a bone to pick with you last night, and now that I arrived here I have two,” Eponine said, crossing her arms. “You do remember when we made that guest list for the testimonial dinner, that we followed most of the same rules that have been part of it each year?”

“Yes, and it includes family,” Marius replied sheepishly, glancing down at the inkblots all over the paper. “I perhaps should not have extended it to my aunt.”

“It’s not that, she was within her rights to go. You could have made it clear that she was not to simply invite someone who was not accounted for on the guest list!”

“I thought that she would adhere more closely to propriety. She always has.”

Eponine snorted. “Yes, and kissing my father in full view of everyone was decorous?”

Marius cringed at the memory. “I am very sorry about that, and I apologize to you and Enjolras on her behalf.”

“I s’pose you’d have to extend that apology also to Courfeyrac and your other colleagues who were helping us with all of this.”

“I will, once I go back to the Palais de Justice later. Is that all you need from me today?”

Eponine shook her head. “I could hear you and Cosette arguing from outside, and it was about your aunt. How could you just let her do that?”

“It was just an idea!”

“So was her bringing a guest to dinner last night.”

Marius looked at her reprovingly. “I’d appreciate it if you stayed out of my family affairs, Eponine. I do not advise you on yours.”

“It’s also my family affair since I might get a stepmother out of this whole mess,” Eponine seethed. “You know already how my parents treated Cosette when we were younger, and you were there at that ambuscade ten years ago. Why would you let your aunt still bring my father around her after all of that?”

“Those times were different. I’d like to think my aunt would be able to get him to at least act somewhat decently, or at least without malice these days.”

“A fine job she did of that over dinner!”

Marius sighed deeply. “What would you have me do? You know I cannot just displease my grandfather again, this time for the sake of his health.”

“Then you’d rather have Cosette crying?” Eponine retorted, unable to get the image of her friend’s tear-stained face out of her mind. “Haven’t you thought what his being around her would do every day?”

“That was so many years ago!”

“She remembers. I know I do, and Zelma does a little.”

Marius looked down for a few long moments. “I had hoped that time and better circumstances would heal things. Clearly I was wrong,” he muttered as he got to his feet. But even before he could cross the room he heard a knock on the door. “Enter!” he shouted.

“Good morning there, Baron Pontmercy, or should I say, cousin?” a voice greeted. In a moment a tall figure dressed in the livery of an infantry captain soon made his appearance. The newcomer started on seeing Eponine. “What are you doing here, Madame?”

‘ _It cannot be,’_ Eponine thought even as she willed herself to face this not entirely unknown face. “Good day to you, Captain Gillenormand.”


	34. Wherever Refuge Lies

Immediately after the morning hearings had concluded, Enjolras cloistered himself away in his office to continue his much-interrupted research and writing from the day before. ‘ _A change is needed in the scope of this primer,’_ he decided ruefully as he found among his papers some of the articles he had acquired concerning the situation in Marseille. As he began to read through the _Moniteur_ ’s coverage of the affair, he heard an all-too familiar knock. “What news, Feuilly?” he asked, getting up to unlock the door.

Feuilly’s brow was knitted in a frown, which became more pronounced as he doffed his hat and then mopped sweat away from his dark wiry hair. “Have you heard of the latest damned business?” he asked.

“I’ve had several bits of those. Which one do you wish to discuss?” Enjolras asked, motioning for the diplomat to take a seat.

Feuilly brought out some papers from a satchel and spread them onto his lap. “The German Confederation is upsetting itself from within. There is a move to have Prussia and Austria co-head the confederation; it does make sense in terms of land and population, but the smaller states do not need to be reminded of being mice beside the elephants,” he grumbled.

“Warring pachyderms is what they were, if the incident with LeClerc is any indicator,” Enjolras pointed out. “Did the Home Office ever get to the bottom of the matter?”

“Let us just say the papers are safe, where they should be,” Feuilly said flatly. His keen eye soon fell on the newspaper that Enjolras had been reading, and his face fell with an expression of shock. “Refugees in Marseille?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“I thought the matter in Catalonia was settled. What has happened?”

“Citizen D’Aramitz happened,” Enjolras deadpanned, handing over the newspaper to his friend. ‘ _There is no telling what other damage and treachery of his will come to the fore soon,’_ he thought as he watched Feuilly reading with a growing expression of dismay. “I believe we need to add another section in the primer concerning the safe passage and refuge of those seeking asylum within our borders, or who have been temporarily displaced due to some conflict or other disaster,” he said at length.

Feuilly nodded even as a slight smile now spread over his face. “I was wondering if you would ever include it, even as subsumed in other sections. It is good that you will now devote a portion specifically for it.”

“Once again you are ahead of me, my friend. Thank you.”

“Thank you as well for accepting the correction.”

Enjolras clasped Feuilly’s shoulder convivially as the latter handed the newspaper back to him. “Then I shall start drafting this section as well; it is somewhat related to the questions of repatriation and extradition.”

“Only because they all concern relocation. One though is a humanitarian act, the others are usually more punitive,” Feuilly said dryly as he wiped some sweat off his hat. “By the way, you might wish to avoid purchasing today’s edition of the _Charivari.”_

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face at the mention of this satirical publication. “Such lampoons will be forgotten in a day or two.”

“I hope so, unless that particularly indiscreet pair gives more fuel for the gossip press,” Feuilly said, barely suppressing a shudder of revulsion. “At least poor Azelma recovered her wits around her after swooning, but how are Eponine and the boys holding up?”

“Each to his or her own fashion,” Enjolras replied, for a moment seeing before his mind’s eye Eponine’s pensive expression once again in the candlelight of their kitchen. ‘ _It will be a while till we can all properly make sense of it,’_ he thought even as Feuilly took his leave after a few minutes.

Upon finding himself alone once more, he then turned his attention to reviewing some of the Spanish texts he had on hand, this time looking for any leads concerning refugees and asylum. ‘ _Then again this country made too many exiles of its own during its unification,’_ he reminded himself as he now began to draft some letters requesting for additional materials from the different embassies. Just as he was setting the notes out to dry, he heard what sounded like two familiar voices arguing in the hallway. He raised an eyebrow when his suspicion was confirmed by Courfeyrac and Marius barging into the room, talking heatedly. “What is afoot?” he asked, setting down his pen.

“The need to talk some sense into Marius here,” Courfeyrac replied, giving the younger lawyer an irritated look.

Marius shook his head before gesturing for Courfeyrac to be quiet. “Enjolras, I am truly sorry for what happened last night. I omitted to tell my aunt that we had a preapproved guest list, and that she would not be at liberty to simply bring an escort,” he said in a level, strong voice. “Eponine called on me this morning, and I have apologized to her as well.”

Courfeyrac sighed deeply as he took a seat. “That is only half of the matter. His aunt now insists that her…fiancé move into the house after the wedding. Of course, Cosette will not have it.”

“I understand that she does not wish to see Citizen Thenardier, not in this life or the next,” Marius said stiffly. “But I am not about to tell my aunt that she can no longer live in the same home that she has had even before I was born.”

The very image of Thenardier strutting about the drawing room of 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire surfaced before Enjolras’ eyes again, making him grit his teeth even as he looked squarely at Marius. “As it is, the situation is already less than tenable, in case you haven’t noticed, since your wife endeavors to absent herself from your domicile the moment your aunt entertains her guest. You do have another recourse though, which may be amenable to your family as a whole.”

“That recourse is?”

“Finding a residence of your own.”

Marius’ jaw dropped. “But what would my grandfather say? I cannot do that to him!”

“Might I remind you that this is the same grandfather who besmirched your father’s name, unceremoniously tossed you out of that same house over politics, and then also suggested that you take a mistress instead of a wife---and that was meant to offend you _and_ Cosette!” Courfeyrac fumed. “Your move out is long overdue, my friend.”

Marius’ shoulders slumped. “Surely there has to be a way of managing this with my aunt. She believes she can keep Citizen Thenardier in check.”

“A romantic delusion. You yourself saw how his wife was treated in her last days before their imprisonment. What makes you think he will heed your aunt?” Enjolras deadpanned. “More importantly, it would be subjecting your family to unease or even outright danger should you all choose to live under the same roof.”

“Are you referring to what he did to Cosette all those years ago?” Marius asked querulously. “She has the most forgiving nature we all know that. I had thought that she would have healed from it, and that time would blunt the memories.”

“Forgiving does not mean forgetting, especially when dealing with the magnitude of the abuse and neglect that your wife experienced in his care,” Enjolras retorted. ‘ _I am sure that Eponine has not recovered entirely either from her own ordeals,’_ he reflected as he clenched and unclenched his right hand to stave off a slight tingling there. “In such cases memory may prove to be crueler than you think,” he said more sternly to Marius.

“How would you know?”

“We all have our own scars to carry.”

Courfeyrac clapped Marius’ back. “I may not be one to talk, being the only unmarried man in this room, but if I were to choose between my kin with all their opportunities against Armand, my heart and soul would go with the latter. That choice extends now to Charlesette, for as long as she would have me.”

Marius sighed deeply before burying his face in his hands. “Where then shall we go?”

“There are plenty of houses in Paris, some within walking distance of the Palais de Justice,” Enjolras pointed out. “Should you need assistance locating one, you can ask either of us.”

“I daresay, Cosette would actually delight in _finally_ being mistress of her own home,” Courfeyrac quipped. “That would help mend your rift.”

“I shall have to talk it over with her first,” Marius said, now getting to his feet and putting on his hat. “Good afternoon Courfeyrac, Enjolras.”

Courfeyrac whistled as Marius shut the door. “That was long in coming, if you ask me. I don’t mind lending him money to cover the initial expenses of a move,” he said.

“I might be able to spare some funds as well, if it will expedite their finding a safe place to live,” Enjolras offered.

“No, I’ll handle it unless he asks you specifically. I have one child, you have five in hand and a sixth soon to arrive.” Courfeyrac turned at the sound of the door opening. “Feuilly? You seem to have come a long way?” he asked, getting up to give his seat to his friend.

“From the Home Office and back,” Feuilly managed to say, totally winded and red in the face. He clutched at a stitch in his side before handing a note to Enjolras. “This came for you. I think you are needed right away at someplace .”

Enjolras’ eyebrows shot up as he got a hold of the note and saw the hastily made wax seal with the emblem of the de Polignacs. “It’s still fresh, meaning it didn’t come from far,” he noted as he broke the seal only to see these hurried words in a shaky hand :

_My dear friend Citizen Enjolras,_

_If you can be spared, please come right away to the Rue d’Enfer. We—that is Clarita and myself, as well as some other dear friends and kin---have finally arrived in Paris. We left everything in Barcelona, and I am sure you have heard what has happened there. We are in desperate need of all kinds of assistance including a doctor, and we know not who else to trust._

_Sincerely,_

_A de Polignac_


	35. The Effects of Parisian Climes

Even long after Marius had already excused himself to head to the Palais de Justice, Eponine was less than eager to leave Cosette’s side. ‘ _Not till she calms down a little more,’_ she told herself as she sat back on a couch in her friend’s private sitting room on the second floor, away from whatever chaos the Gillenormands were surely creating downstairs. Even as she tried to read a novel borrowed from Cosette’s collection, Eponine could still hear the chatter of Theodule Gillenormand, mingled occasionally with his aunt’s harangues and recriminations. She shook her head before looking over the top of her book to watch Cosette, who was trying to occupy herself with some needlework. ‘ _Though if she is missing stitches that cannot be good,’_ she observed silently as her friend bit back a mutter of frustration.

After a few minutes Cosette set down her embroidery and shook her head. “Was I too harsh with Marius?” she asked softly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have threatened to leave with the children.”

“I don’t think so. He’s the one who needs to remember a thing or two about how my father is, and how he hasn’t changed one bit,” Eponine said, closing the book. “I s’pose you’re doing what I really wish my own mother had done while there was still time.”

Cosette gasped. “Eponine! How could you say such a thing about your parents?”

“It’s only something I think of from time to time. I know she wouldn’t have left, she loved my father too much,” Eponine said with a shrug. “Or at least, I think she did.”

Cosette nodded slowly. “I love Marius too, more than my life. I don’t wish to hurt him, but what do I do for the sake of our children?”

“He loves the children too, so that might be enough to get him thinking later. Just not today, I s’pose,” Eponine pointed out. “But apart from caring for his grandfather, do you have any other reason to still have your family stay in this house?”

“Not much; it’s mainly convenient here and the house is large enough,” Cosette replied. “If we move to a smaller place, we might have to do without any help at home. The children will have to adjust. That is not being too harsh on them, I hope?”

“I don’t think so either. What is good though is that you will finally have a home of your own that you and Marius can arrange to your liking.” Eponine smiled encouragingly. “If anyone can manage it, I think it’s you.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Cosette said, now managing a smile of her own. She turned at the patter of her children’s footsteps outside the sitting room. “I don’t want to keep you here too long, since I know you have to get things ready for your own children. I’ll be fine now, thanks to you.”

“If Citizenness Gillenormand gets too trying, you can come to the Rue Guisarde and bring the little ones too even for a few hours.”

“That would be nice. Thank you again, Ponine.”

Eponine grinned as she donned her coat and then headed downstairs. She sighed deeply on seeing Theodule Gillenormand smoking in the front hall. “Good day to you, Citizen Gillenormand,” she said as she crossed the hall to the door.

The lancer blew some smoke into the air. “Is that how you greet old friends, Eponine?”

“I would say acquaintances, Citizen,” Eponine replied. “What brings you here to Paris?”

“Garrison duty, once more,” Theodule said, looking her over once again with a little less aplomb than before. “It’s good to see that you haven’t changed much, but Parisian living has definitely ruined your figure.”

‘ _The nerve!’_ Eponine thought, crossing her arms. “I s’pose you’re still wearing a corset under that uniform then. Good day to you again,” she said before pushing her way out the door, not even waiting for the recrimination that was sure to follow. She wrinkled her nose at the smell of tobacco that seemingly stuck to her clothes, prompting her to wipe her face with her sleeve. ‘ _Impossible then, impossible even now!’_ she fumed as she went to the omnibus stop.

Within the next hour she was back in the Latin Quartier to fetch Etienne from the Prouvaires’ apartment, and then head back to 9 Rue Guisarde. After she set the toddler down to let him play in the drawing room, she took off her shawl and her hat, and then checked her pocket watch. ‘ _If it’s just past two in the afternoon, that gives me some time to really get a good dinner going,’_ she decided as she went to the larder. She brought out a large ham and some salt pork, which she set to cook with garlic and a bouquet of herbs. By half-past four in the afternoon the air was fragrant with the aroma of the stew, to which she had subsequently added some potatoes, cabbage, and still more garlic and onions. Even as she closed the lid on the pot to keep the stew hot for the next few hours, she heard footsteps and voices from the front hall. ‘ _How is it that Antoine is home so early?’_ she wondered as she headed out into the hall where she saw Enjolras now making his way to the study amid the commotion of Jacques, Laure, and Julien taking off their coats and hats or tossing their school satchels aside. Etienne, who’d clearly just woken up from a nap, was also joining in the fuss by telling a story at the top of his lungs.

“My goodness you’d talk the shingles off the roof!” Eponine said loudly in a bid to get the youngsters’ attention. She glanced towards the sound of Enjolras searching for something in the next room before she looked back at the children. “What’s new with you all?”

“I did the best in my grammar today!” Laure chirped. “Julien came second in a foot race too, at lunch!”

“I tripped over my shoes,” Julien said more embarrassedly. “Everyone saw.”

“You didn’t have the whole of Paris looking, _petit_ ,” Jacques said dryly.

“Now don’t you start with that, he’s mortified enough as it is,” Eponine warned, scooping up Etienne to balance him on her hip. She went to the study door and knocked. “Antoine? Is everything all well with you?”

“I need to have a word with you, Eponine,” Enjolras called distractedly from inside the room. “Just you.”

‘ _Something terribly serious then?’_ Eponine wondered, feeling a frisson of worry even as she set Etienne down and motioned for the children to go to the living room or upstairs. When she stepped into the study she saw her husband retrieving what appeared to be a language phrasebook from the pile of books and papers on his desk. “Did something happen at the Palais de Justice?”

“Not there, at the Rue D’Enfer,” Enjolras replied. In the late afternoon light, he looked rather strained and distracted, as if he’d come from some troubling sight. “If you recall the news that my parents had yesterday about the refugees in Marseille, you must know there is a development. They are now in Paris. Our acquaintances the de Polignacs are among them.”

Eponine gaped at him for a moment, taking in the magnitude of this news. “It was as you suspected,” she said. “But how are they?”

“The two are well, at least physically. Their child is well too.” Enjolras gritted his teeth as he put the phrasebook in his coat pocket. “The same cannot be said all of the seventeen other displaced persons who have travelled with them from Barcelona. I’ve sent a message asking Combeferre if he can please see to them.”

“I s’pose, while you see to the legalities of their situation, hence that book?”

“That, and also perhaps succoring some of their more immediate needs.” 

Eponine smiled ruefully, realizing what else he’d come back to the house for. “You’re lucky that it’s soup today and easier to portion out for sharing. We’d better leave most of it for the little ones here, and I am sure Neville will be hungry after his work today.”

“Naturally.” Although Enjolras’ expression was still serious, there was a light of expectation and hope in his eyes when he looked at her again. “If you can be spared however---”

“Give me a few minutes. You’d better leave instructions for Jacques about the little ones though,” Eponine said, clasping his callused hands before heading to the kitchen. Here she carefully portioned out most of the stew into five bowls, taking care to cover one for Neville. The other four she set on the dining table along with some bread. The remainder of the stew she kept in the pot, which she wrapped up in a large handkerchief. Even as she did this she heard Enjolras conversing with Jacques about keeping the house locked up till Neville returned around suppertime. ‘ _If Antoine is asking me to join him, instead of Jacques coming along since he knows Spanish, there’s something to do with Senora de Polignac or some of the other ladies,’_ she realized even as she donned her gloves and found her hat and her coat. After quickly bidding goodbye to the children, Eponine and Enjolras made a quick trip to the Marche Saint-Germain for some bread and supplies, before doubling back to cross the Place Saint-Sulpice and Rue Vaugirard, and then through the Jardin du Luxembourg till its furthermost end at the Boulevard du Mont Parnasse. From here they only had to walk a little way to the Rue D’Enfer, on the road leading to the morose Barriere D’Enfer and its byway to the cemetery.

The house where the Spanish refugees had sequestered themselves in was beyond the Observatorie Royal, right at the intersection of the Rue D’Enfer and the boulevard bearing the same name. “I s’pose you should know; while I was visiting Marius and Cosette today, a Citizen Theodule Gillenormand turned up,” she said as they walked towards this end of the street, which was now being lit by gas lamps.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “For how long?”

“As long as it takes to be on duty at a garrison,” Eponine replied. She sighed as she saw Enjolras grit his teeth. “I know he irritates you, but you should know he annoys me too. He hasn’t changed a bit since we last saw him!”

“That is a shame, for him.” Enjolras paused before a ramshackle dwelling half-hidden in the shadows of the boulevard. “Here we are.”

“What a poky place to be!” Eponine remarked, seeing the dirty window curtains and the dusty steps leading to the house. “Why is it so dark?”

“In their current situation it would be unwise to leave the house or even be seen in the garden,” Enjolras pointed out as he knocked once loudly, then twice softly on the door. “The police would be well within their rights to arrest them for simply not having a passport to enter France.”

Eponine swallowed hard even as the door opened to reveal a gaunt young man, whose once fine clothes were stained with soot and travel. His hands were bandaged with clean linen, and he leaned heavily on a makeshift cane. ‘ _That must be Citizen de Polignac,’_ she realized, seeing how this harried figure looked to Enjolras with desperation and relief before wordlessly ushering them inside a poorly lit front room. “We’ve brought some dinner, Citizen,” she greeted.

De Polignac blinked blearily at her before nodding wanly as if with acknowledgment. “Thank you. I’m sorry for my manners, Citizenness Enjolras, but it was good of you to come. Is that an actual French hotpot you have there?”

“One of my own making. And we have some bread,” Eponine replied, setting down the pot of soup. “Will it be enough, or should we send for some more?”

“That might depend on the doctor’s advice,” de Polignac said, gesturing upstairs. “Citizen Enjolras, thank you for asking Citizen Combeferre to come. I think he might have saved my neighbor’s life there.”

“It would be optimal if we can get him to a hospital for surgery. I cannot do it here,” Combeferre chimed in, now coming down the stairs. His usually congenial face was drawn and pallid in the dim light from a flickering candle. “It would have to be arranged discreetly.”

‘ _Would the police even go after someone so ill and confined?’_ Eponine wondered even as she left Combeferre and Enjolras to discuss this grave matter while she followed de Polignac upstairs. The second floor was little more than a single room, haphazardly partitioned by torn draperies and piled up furniture. In this darkened space she could just make out a number of people seated on pallets, or sharing the light from almost burned out candles or from the glow from the nearest street lamp. She set the pot down as de Polignac said something in Spanish, prompting some of these weary travelers to fetch bowls or cups. “You came with almost nothing, did you?” she asked the younger man in French.

“For some of us, just with the clothes on our backs,” de Polignac replied. He turned to look at a woman who was seated with her face to the window, with an infant at her breast. She had on a tattered shawl over what appeared to be a dressing gown thrown over a dress. “Clarita, there is some dinner for us. Please, you have to eat,” he called.

Eponine nearly started on hearing this name. ‘ _I’d imagined her a little older,’_ she thought as she took in the sight of this woman’s dark but uncombed hair, and the hollows deepening a pair of eyes now devoid of all vivacity. “ _Senora_ de Polignac? I don’t think you’re expecting me, but it’s me, Citizenness Enjolras,” she greeted cautiously.

Clarita de Polignac sat up straight and looked from Eponine to her own husband with an expression of shock that soon transformed into a flush of horror and embarrassment. “Audric, how dare you! How dare you let me be seen like this!” she cried, gathering up her dirty skirts and rushing into a cupboard only to slam the door.


	36. The Wide Spread of Asylum

Even as Enjolras listened while Eponine headed upstairs with de Polignac to see the rest of the group, he kept his eyes on Combeferre and his pacing throughout the darkened living room. “I take that it is more than discretion that will be required then?” he deadpanned.

“I need to convince a trustworthy colleague to assist me with operating on _Senor_ Marquez, that friend that de Polignac spoke of,” Combeferre replied. “It is not a simple case.”

“What exactly is the ailment?”

“A broken bone requiring amputation, the way that Neville’s foot did years ago, but twice as complicated in these conditions. It is likely he will not heal as well either.”

Enjolras swallowed hard at the memory of the harrowing night when he, as well as Eponine and Claudine, had to assist Combeferre and Joly with operating on a then seven-year old Neville. “You will need light. Would it be possible to move him to another house at the very least?”

“I was thinking that the Spanish consulate here might be able to provide assistance,” Combeferre said tersely. “It is not possible at this hour, is it?”

Before Enjolras could say anything he heard a woman shouting followed by the sound of a door slamming. He nodded to Combeferre, who followed him upstairs only to be greeted by the sight of Eponine looking rather worried while de Polignac was trying to pull a door open. “What happened?” he asked cautiously.

“I s’pose _Senora_ de Polignac wasn’t expecting to see _me,_ ” Eponine admitted. She sighed as she looked to de Polignac. “I think I gave her a fright, Citizen. I don’t expect to be welcomed in these sorts of situations,” she said to him.

“Clarita has been wanting to meet you for _months_ ,” de Polignac said, now letting go of the door defeatedly. “She’ll be herself again once we’re settled, or at least in brighter lodgings.”

‘ _Another immediate order of business,’_ Enjolras thought as he watched Combeferre go over to check on a man lying on a pallet, with his foot raised on a box. Even just from this distance he could already imagine the reek emanating from this patient’s injury, prompting him to keep his distance for the time being. He glanced at Eponine, who had somehow found a box to sit on. “Perhaps I should have told you earlier more about this,” he admitted.

“I don’t think anything you could have said would have prepared me for this,” Eponine pointed out. She rested her chin on her hands as she looked to the closed door again. “Never mind me. I’ll wait for her to come out when she’s gotten less of a fright about my being here.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this unlikely approach, but he busied himself instead with helping de Polignac straighten up a place to eat. He looked down at the younger man’s bandaged hands for a moment. “You never said how exactly you got those,” he pointed out in an undertone.

“Jumping off the train after the others. We couldn’t let it pull into Bercy station with us on it,” de Polignac said. “But before that was going through all the countryside on the back of a train car, only because we fled Marseille just a jump ahead of the police!”

“While you got to Marseille by ship, or perhaps a boat?” Enjolras inquired. “On what grounds did Espartero bombard Barcelona?”

“Crushing the resistance. The north has never taken kindly to his reign; you’ve seen that yourself. There was a huge uproar about some trade policies that Espartero wanted and the Catalonians wouldn’t stand for it,” de Polignac pointed out. “We had nothing to do with it; we only went to Barcelona because Belmont said that we’d always be welcome there. Some of my friends here _had_ kin there.”

Enjolras could only nod at the bereavement evident in his friend’s tone. “Which brings me to the last question: why did you all leave Madrid?”

De Polignac winced but managed to look at Enjolras more bravely. “As you also know, we French emigres have had a precarious place in the Spanish court. While Belmont was there, my family, friends and I were safe. With him absent, it has allowed for the faction led by du Bellay to get into Espartero’s ear. Before we knew it, we were declared as traitors and intriguers. I could not keep myself and my own safe in that city,” he said in a steady voice. “We had no choice.”

‘ _Once again, D’Aramitz’s treachery bears fruit,’_ Enjolras realized, tasting a sourness in his mouth from the recollection of the collusion between du Bellay and this now deceased diplomat. “Is that the reason then that you have not appealed for assistance from the Spanish embassy?”

The younger man nodded miserably. “I fear that if I do so, I will deliver us all up to the police. For certain they know we are fugitives.”

“Not if you claim the right to asylum here,” Enjolras pointed out. “It should not be difficult to prove that you were unjustly banished.”

“Even with my surname?” de Polignac asked bitterly even as a pained cry from the patient that Combeferre had been tending to suddenly pierced the air. “I’ll get a fiacre so we can bring him away for the operation,” he said, quickly going to his friend.

Combeferre shook his head. “I have to operate here; he’s not going to stand to be moved.” He rummaged through his bag for supplies. “I will need some hot water and some more light. We may have to make a fire.”

“But we’ll be seen!” de Polignac protested.

“It’s a cold night. What does it matter?” another Spaniard said in weary, broken French. “Light all the garbage here, it will keep us warm a little longer.”

“Some better wood so it won’t be all soot and smoke here,” de Polignac said, now beginning to rummage for some wood. “Crack a window open, we need air,” he ordered someone in Spanish.

Enjolras now busied himself with making a fire in the room’s small hearth, even while one man ran to look for water in a cistern while others went to comfort the patient. He glanced to where Eponine had somehow gotten the door open and was now guiding Clarita de Polignac and her infant to sit on a box covered with a soft cloth. ‘ _Hopefully they can keep each other distracted,’_ he thought as he turned his attention back to his work. In a few minutes he had started up a fire that was high and strong enough to permit boiling what little water the group had retrieved from the house’s old rain cistern. The added illumination in the room only added bizarre shadows to it, as firelight fell on the piles of abandoned furniture and boxes stacked in different corners. ‘ _Like a cave or some twisted catacombs,’_ he observed, situating himself at the side of the pallet even as he watched Combeferre measuring out a dose of laudanum for the now weeping patient.

Even though he was no stranger to hoary surgical procedures or even the sight of blood, nothing could have prepared Enjolras for the stench that filled the air once Combeferre unwrapped the clumsy bandage on the Spaniard’s foot. The very smell made his eyes water and it was all he could do to conceal his efforts at breathing through his mouth in an effort to spare his nose while he cleaned instruments and then handed them to Combeferre as he worked. Even with the laudanum the sick man groaned and then roared with pain, prompting someone to stuff an old belt between his pale lips to muffle the sound. When Enjolras risked a glance at the others in the room, he saw most of them looking away from this dire scene or covering their ears. As for Eponine, she was doing her best to keep Clarita from watching the operation by cooing over the younger woman’s child or conversing in an increasingly loud and jovial voice.

Suddenly, over the grating sound of a saw against bone, Enjolras heard voices coming from the street below. “Keep going, I’ll see who it is,” he whispered to Combeferre in Occitan before getting up and heading to the stairs. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness downstairs, but he soon saw through the window what appeared to be two men approaching the house. He took a moment to look through the window again, only to grit his teeth on seeing the all-too familiar regalia of the Prefecture’s agents. He opened the door and cleared his throat. “Good evening, what brings you here?” he greeted.

One of the agents started on seeing him. “Citizen, we are investigating a break-in,” the agent stammered out. “There is a light upstairs.”

“What of it?”

“This house is supposed to have been abandoned for years.”

The second agent cursed under his breath before pushing his companion aside and then glaring at Enjolras. “Citizen Enjolras, surely you are aware that this is a condemned property not fit for human habitation. Not even you have business being here.”

At that precise moment, a pained scream came from the second floor, prompting the officers to pale momentarily before glancing at each other. “Please step aside. We have to investigate,” the second officer said, eyes narrowing at Enjolras.

“Upstairs, a friend of mine is trying to save a sick man’s life with a surgery,” Enjolras said. “It would be far better if you could assist us.”

“A sick man, here? What is he, a vagabond?”

“One out of twenty claiming the right to asylum.”

The officers gaped at each other once again and then at Enjolras. “What, is Paris becoming a city for every ragtag from all over to hide in?” the first agent laughed.

“France has long honored the preservation of the life and liberty of those fleeing oppression and tyranny,” Enjolras answered, looking these men in the eye. “What they need is our assistance to ensure their material security and legal recourses.”

“That is magnanimous of you, Citizen, but we at the Prefecture are not bound to see to the welfare of foreigners,” the officer said in a slightly choked and uneasy voice. “Are these…twenty people your guests?”

“In a manner of speaking, if you consider those that one succors as guests.”

“Then do not house them here. You have till morning to find other lodgings for them or we will arrest you and whatever companions you have for obstruction of the law and trespassing.”

‘ _Which means they will put a watch on this house till we leave,’_ Enjolras realized even as he nodded curtly to these officers, who then retreated some way down the street. He looked back over his shoulder and saw Eponine now standing on the stairway. “We’ll be fine, for at least the next hour,” he said as he stepped back in the house and shut the door.

Eponine nodded quickly. “And then? Those police might go to tell the embassy, which is what de Polignac is worried about---and it’s now his wife comforting him.”

Enjolras crossed his arms, already hearing what sounded like panicked talk from upstairs. “We need to find some safer and cleaner lodgings for them, till something can be arranged with the Home Office regarding their asylum first thing tomorrow morning. The police do have a point with this building being unfit and unhealthy for human habitation.”

“It would have to be a terribly large house or hotel,” Eponine mused. “Maybe someplace with a good many rooms so they can get some spaces to themselves, especially the ladies.”

“There is no dormitory I can think of that would fit the bill. Could you think of any?”

“A few, but even you would find them shocking.”

He raised an eyebrow as he went to meet her halfway on the stairs. In the half-light he could just see the thoughtful expression now playing across her face. “That would be quite a feat at this point, Eponine.”

“Well if it is just for a night, I can think of a place. We’d have to go back into the Latin Quartier and speak to our brother and sister,” she said in Occitan as she absent-mindedly straightened out his cuffs.

“What assistance can Prouvaire and Azelma give at this hour?”

“A whole set of keys to rooms they have access to. Do you have any idea how large the Odeon really is, behind the stage? I can think of some snug places there that would be like Claridge’s in London compared to here!”


	37. Playtime is Over

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for talk about prostitution

It was an understood fact in the Latin Quartier that in the fortnight or so leading up to any of Jean Prouvaire’s plays that the daily rehearsals and preparations could run into the late hours of the night. “I hope we find them in the middle of taking some minutes to rest; I’d hate to drop by right in the middle of a scene,” Eponine mused aloud as she and Enjolras alighted from a fiacre in front of the Odeon’s back entrance on the Rue Vaugirard.

Enjolras glanced towards where some men were raucously joking and shoving each other in one of the windows near the top of the building. “It would appear that we’ve arrived at the conclusion of it, unless carousing is part of their run-throughs,” he deadpanned.

‘ _Then again we never know with the way Jehan does things,’_ Eponine thought, finally catching sight of the porter watching the door to the back stairway. This man nodded by way of recognition before disappearing inside, only to return not two minutes later with Prouvaire in tow. “Good evening, brother,” Eponine greeted.

“Opening night isn’t for two weeks,” the poet replied jovially before clasping his sister-in-law’s arm and then pulling Enjolras into a hug. “What brings you two here?”

“A serious inquiry and favor we need to ask,” Enjolras answered, clapping Prouvaire’s shoulder confidentially. “Would you know a place wherein twenty people can lodge for the night, on extremely short notice?”

Prouvaire’s jaw dropped at this query. “Who’d need that sort of help at this hour?”

“Some persons with nowhere else to go, and no other recourse in Paris,” Enjolras replied in an undertone. “It requires discretion. The only other person who knows of this is Combeferre; he is still taking care of one of them even as we speak.”

‘ _He’d know best how to go about it,’_ Eponine decided even as she and the men headed indoors and up the back stairway. Even though she’d spent most of the evening sitting up with poor Clarita de Polignac, she had been unable to get anything of a clear narrative out from the obviously shocked and grieving younger woman. ‘ _What sort of things then take the words away from people?’_ she wondered even as she vaguely heard Enjolras explaining the situation to Prouvaire.

When they reached the top of the stairway, Prouvaire knocked thrice on a door and opened it. “My dear, we have guests,” he greeted as he opened the door more widely.

“Yes, I saw them coming in,” Azelma said, stepping away from where she’d been helping a seamstress measure a costume for alteration while little Maximillien was doodling on the studio floor. “It’s not usual for either of you to be here so late. Is everything well?” she greeted Eponine and Enjolras.

“For us two, yes,” Eponine replied. “I can’t say the same for some others.”

“Azelma, are any of the troupe staying over tonight in the quarters?” Prouvaire enquired.

“No. Were you thinking of asking any of them to work late?” Azelma asked, scooping up Maximillien, who’d been tugging on her skirt.

Prouvaire shook his head. “There are twenty people who’ve met a tragedy in Spain and they need someplace to go, till their situation can be sorted out,” he said in Occitan.

“Twenty! Why so many?”

“That’s just how tragedy works.”

It was all that Eponine could do to keep a straight face, more so when she saw Enjolras raise an eyebrow at Prouvaire’s attempt to explain matters to Azelma. “It’s better than having her faint away for the second time in two days,” she said to her husband. “And there’s no real straight way of saying it without causing a shock.”

“Last night defies description, but the present demands action,” Enjolras pointed out. His expression was hopeful when he saw the Prouvaires sorting through keys that Azelma had kept on a large ring hidden in her work apron. “There is a space?”

“More of a loft, and good for three days at most,” Azelma replied, adjusting her hold on Maximillien before handing him off to Eponine. “Come and see.”

Eponine smiled when her nephew hugged her. “Did you enjoy spending the day with your cousin Tienne?” she asked as they walked with Azelma and Prouvaire out of the studio and down a long hallway.

“Yes, and he said he’d help me get my loose tooth out!” Maximillien said with a grin before poking a wiggling incisor with his tongue.

“Should we then schedule you to go to the dentist?” Enjolras asked the boy dryly, earning him a scowl. “You might find it falls out right on its own before you know it.”

“When I get new teeth will they be nice like your teeth?” Maximillien wondered aloud.

“Only if you don’t chip them on those nuts you like to eat,” Azelma admonished as she unlocked a door. The five of them stepped into a long room with a low ceiling, with a single window at one end and a skylight. An old but usable stove stood along one wall, facing a row of bare iron beds. “This was once a dormitory, but we only use it now for visiting troupes or if rehearsals run too late; the _corps du ballet_ boards elsewhere. There aren’t enough bedsteads around, but we should be able to find some pallets and other things to make them comfortable. Will this be big enough?” she asked, looking at Enjolras.

“It is an improvement from where they are now,” Enjolras pronounced after a moment. “How long will you need to get this place ready?”

“Not very long at all; you can bring them here now,” Prouvaire said, glancing at Azelma and then at his siblings-in-law. “I know the Rue D’Enfer; it isn’t a good place to hide in,” he added in a whisper as he looked around the room.

“Thank you for this, both of you. This will not be forgotten,” Enjolras said gratefully. He clasped Eponine’s hand on his way out. “I’ll see you later,” he whispered.

“Don’t take long,” Eponine said with a nod. She waited for Enjolras to shut the door behind him before looking at the Prouvaires. “What do we need to do?”

“Maximillien and I will get the pallets,” the poet said, scooping up the little boy. “We’ll have fun with that, while your Maman and your aunt clean this place up.”

‘ _Something afoot,’_ Eponine realized, seeing the looks that Prouvaire and Azelma exchanged before the former left the room with Maximillien in tow. She bit her lip as she watched Azelma open the window to air the room out. “What do you want to tell me?”

Azelma brought a paper out of another pocket in her apron. “I think you might have one of these waiting for you at home. It’s a note from Citizenness Gillenormand,” she said, scrunching her nose with evident distaste. “She’s inviting us for tea tomorrow.”

“Tea! Whatever for?” Eponine asked, finding a rag to begin wiping down the bedsteads.

“She wrote that she wants to ‘get to know her future stepdaughters’,” Azelma said blasely.

Eponine burst out laughing. “Get to know us? Why, she had ten years to do that!” When she looked at Azelma again, she realized her sister was only pensively shaking her head while wiping down another bedstead. “Are you planning to actually go?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“I never thought you’d want to spend an afternoon with one of the most tasteless prudes we have ever known.”

“I have my reasons,” Azelma said nonchalantly as she continued her work. “I intend to tell her everything.”

“Everything about what?”

“Every reason for her not to marry our father.”

Eponine shook her head. “Cosette has tried dissuading her by telling her all about how our parents met, what our father was doing in Waterloo, and even a bit about Montfermeil---”

“Cosette doesn’t know everything,” Azelma cut in. She shook her head as she sat on a bare bedstead. “You don’t know everything either, of what else happened after you and Gavroche were at the barricade and it was just me helping him out.”

Somehow the sudden softness of Azelma’s voice had Eponine feeling as if there was a pit in her stomach. “You never told me much about it, not even when you first arrived at my doorstep,” she pointed out as she sat across from her sister.

“You didn’t seem to care about it very much then,” Azelma said with a slight edge in her tone. She looked up towards the window, as if seeing something far off. “I know that our father made you do things with Montparnasse and all these other nasty men from all over, as long as they were willing to pay. He had me do something different, when you were gone.”

“Azelma…”

“The first was the son of some banker. For some reason he needed a girl to go with him to a party, and his father was willing to pay for one,” Azelma began. “He taught me a bit how to dance in the day leading up, and I think he really _should_ have been a dancing master instead of whatever he was studying for. We had some fun at the party, and he kept telling me how well I danced, and how witty I was compared to all the other girls. He did want something more at the end of the night though, and I couldn’t refuse since his father had given the fee already.”

Eponine shut her eyes for a moment, imagining Thenardier palming whatever miserly coins he’d been given for this transaction. “And you expected he’d come for you?”

“Yes of course,” Azelma said, her cheeks burning. “He wasn’t a terrible sort, and he did treat me swell at least till the day after the party. I waited, then waited till I realized he wasn’t coming. Then before I knew it I was being asked to meet another gentleman, that same week.”

‘ _And he was not the last one either …’_ Eponine realized, taking a deep breath to keep from being sick. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“As I said, you didn’t seem to care. Back then at least.”

“I’m sorry about that, really. But why didn’t you run away?”

“Because I always thought, with every other one who came after, that he’d be the one who cared enough to bring me away from there!” Azelma choked out. Her eyes glimmered before she swiped at her face. “I only ran away because of what our Father did to Citizen Valjean, and because I realized that none of those men would ever respect me, or even just look at me the way that Marius looked at Cosette, or even how Theodule Gillenormand looked at you then.”

Eponine bit her lip even as she held out a handkerchief to her sister, who took it to muffle her sobs in. “I’m sorry. If only I’d known, I wouldn’t have said some of the nasty things I did say in those days,” she murmured.

“Some of it was deserved; I made some horrible decisions and it cost Neville his foot, and almost cost Jehan everything,” Azelma said more composedly. She blew her nose before speaking again. “I am sure that Citizenness Gillenormand does not know of it. He wouldn’t tell her of course. No man trying to be respectable would admit to putting his daughters on sale.”

“That’s true,” Eponine concurred, feeling more relieved on seeing her sister wiping her face. “What time is this tea going to be at again?”

“Oh, now you’re interested?”

“I’m not going to let you face _that_ one all by yourself, am I?”


	38. The Results of a Late Night and an Early Morning

Although Enjolras was sure that it was past midnight by the time he and Eponine returned to the Rue Guisarde for the night, dawn found him quite wide awake and rather unable to chase even a few extra minutes of rest. Even as he thought of getting out of bed, he heard the blanket rustling followed by the light touch of a hand on his back. “Won’t you sleep a little longer? We got home so late,” Eponine asked.

“I should ask the same about you,” Enjolras deadpanned, turning to look at her. He raised an eyebrow on seeing that her eyes were still heavy-lidded with dark circles under them, as if she’d passed a restless night. “Is something wrong?”

Eponine bit her lip even as she now turned to look at the ceiling. “Last night, Azelma and I had a good talk while we were preparing that loft for the Spaniards. She told me some things that I never knew of.” She sighed deeply and shut her eyes for a moment, clearly trying to keep her composure. “We were pushed into the same sort of wretchedness, but I at least was free in a way, to run or hide. I could choose, somewhat. Azelma, during the time she and only she remained with our father, did not have a choice at all.”

It took a moment till Enjolras realized what Eponine was speaking of, and for a moment he felt a frisson of anger flare up anew against his father-in-law. ‘ _But this is not the time for avenging,’_ he reminded himself as he took Eponine’s hand to kiss it “You’re safe now, and so is she. Our entire family is,” he reminded her.

“I only wish I hadn’t been so horrid to my own sister; I wouldn’t have been if I’d known exactly what she was running from when we met again,” Eponine said, now turning to look at him. She squeezed his fingers, managing a smile when he clasped her hand more tightly. “I s’pose that gives me another reason to do what I have to do later.”

“Which is?”

“Join her for tea with Citizenness Gillenormand. At least Cosette is going to be there.”

It was all that Enjolras could do not to wince at the images that these words brought to mind. “Is that such a wise proposition?”

“It’s less foolish than having her marry my father,” Eponine pointed out. “I may not like her all that much, but no one deserves to be married that way.”

“That is true,” he concurred before kissing her forehead, feeling her relax a little under his lips. “Is that all you have planned for today?”

“I s’pose that is it, aside from a little work here at home; those papers won’t translate themselves,” she said, idly tracing a line down from his neck to his chest. “Will you need some help today with the de Polignacs and their friends?”

“Perhaps. I will let you know,” he replied. “You should rest first. As you said, we had a very long night.”

Eponine rolled her eyes before holding back a yawn. “Just for a little while. I’ll see you later, Antoine,” she whispered, smiling softly.

“Of course.” Enjolras adjusted the blanket so that it covered Eponine’s shoulders before he got out of bed to ready for the day. As he washed up and put on some clean clothes, he heard footsteps in the hall, a clear sign that one or more of the youngsters was already up and about. ‘ _Does Neville actually have work on Saturdays?’_ he wondered as he headed out, first to check on the still sleeping younger children, then to go downstairs.

He arrived in the dining room to the sight of Neville and Jacques glaring at each other from across the table. Neville had on his good coat, while Jacques was still in his shirtsleeves. “What is this about, gentlemen?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Neville says he’s heading out today instead of studying or working,” Jacques sulked.

“I’ve done most of my work, the rest will be finished by tomorrow, and I promised this day to Ariadne,” Neville argued. “I’m not being a laggard or wasting my time.”

“I don’t see why you get to go out and I don’t.”

“That’s none of your business, Jacques.”

“If you two will persist in this vein, step outside,” Enjolras said sternly. He looked seriously at Neville. “Where will you and Citizenness Wright be today?”

“Only at the Luxembourg gardens; there’s music there and I don’t think there is a high chance of rain,” Neville said. He reddened slightly as he put his hands in his pockets. “It’s not a dinner out or tickets to the opera, but I hope she won’t mind.”

Jacques snorted. “Let’s hope none of your classmates notice.”

“Jacques, that was uncalled for,” Enjolras said reprovingly, even as he motioned for Neville to stay in his seat. “I have something important for you to do today.”

The younger boy’s jaw dropped. “What is it, Father?”

“You might recall our acquaintance Citizen de Polignac from Madrid. He and his companions need assistance,” Enjolras said. “If you are done with breakfast, put on your coat. We may have to go to the Home Office.”

“Whatever for?”

“A matter of discretion that requires your knowledge of Spanish.”

Jacques thumbed his nose as he left the dining room. “At least I’m doing something important today,” he said over his shoulder to Neville before stepping out of side.

“That is enough, Jacques!” Enjolras called sharply. He looked back to where Neville was sighing deeply as he looked at the tabletop. “I take this is not the first squabble you boys have had over this particular matter?” he asked in a level tone.

“He’s just jealous,” Neville fumed. “But how did you ever do it?”

“Do what exactly?”

“Court my sister with next to nothing?”

“I would not say that we were extremely frugal; we only wanted to live within what our respective incomes would provide,” Enjolras reminded him. “There is no shame in it.”

Neville shrugged. “At least the Calamys won’t laugh; they seem the sort to understand. The Admiral was only a lieutenant when he married Mrs. Calamy, and not much older than I am now.”

“That was a different time, once again.”

“I know, Father. I will finish my studies first, don’t worry about it.”

“Good,” Enjolras said before going to the kitchen to make up a pot of coffee. By the time he was done, Neville had left for the day while Jacques had made his reappearance, already fully dressed and brushing off his hat. “Was all of that necessary?” Enjolras asked Jacques as he took a seat again in the dining room.

“I still don’t see why he gets to go about with Citizenness Wright, while you would not let me court anyone in Spain,” Jacques said petulantly.

“We’ve had this discussion before, Jacques.”

“He’s only two years older than me!”

“It is not a matter of years,” Enjolras pointed out, fixing the youngster with a stern look. “The more important question is the maturity you put in your dealings and deportment.”

Jacques groaned. “When will you ever say I am mature enough?”

“When there is proof in your words and actions,” Enjolras answered in a level tone before sipping his coffee. ‘ _Perhaps it might be best to leave him be today,’_ the thought occurred to him, but simply recalling the fact that Eponine needed some sleep was enough to steel him to his course of action. “For today our main objective is to assist our Spanish friends and secure their situation.” 

“What are they doing in France anyway?” Jacques asked, scratching his head.

“Escaping a dire turn in Madrid and Barcelona. You might remember that my parents mentioned the refugees from Marseille. Those are the same people, or at least a small group from among them,” Enjolras explained. ‘ _It would only stand to reason that there may be more bands of refugees also slipping through the borders now,’_ he mused. Within a quarter of an hour, he and Jacques were on their way to the Odeon’s back entrance on the Rue Vaugirard.

When they arrived at the theater, young de Polignac was already up and about, sipping coffee while talking with Jean Prouvaire in the foyer leading to the loft. “Citizen Enjolras, you didn’t tell me your brother-in-law was quite the Latin scholar,” de Polignac greeted in a livelier tone. He was dressed in a borrowed, but fresh suit of clothes, and the linens on his hand had been changed out for fresher ones.

Prouvaire smiled as he set down his drink. “We were only discussing a bit of Juvenal. You’d be happy to know that everyone is doing well. Combeferre’s patient is a little better and was able to take some water.”

Enjolras nodded with relief. “That is good to know.” He looked from Jacques to de Polignac. “I am sure you two remember each other.”

“Yes. You’re a little taller now, Citizen,” de Polignac said to Jacques. “But to what do we owe this early visit?”

“To plan your next accommodations,” Enjolras replied. “For that, we need to appeal to the Home Office.”

De Polignac paled at these words. “The Home Office? Will I not risk deportation?”

“Not if you appeal immediately for asylum,” Enjolras pointed out. “Apart from allowing you all to move to more permanent lodgings, it will also ensure your safety and mobility at least within Paris or some radius of it.”

De Polignac bowed his head despondently. “If I am arrested, what will they do?”

“I highly doubt that will be the case,” a woman’s voice said in Spanish. The men turned to see Clarita standing in the doorway, looking much cleaner and calmer than she had the night before. “They’d have to be completely heartless, _godless_ men to turn us away to the border,” she said, leaning against the door after she’d shut it.

“Clarita, we were run out of Marseilles by the police!” de Polignac pointed out, now reverting to Spanish.

“And we will be soon here, if you do not go to that Home Office,” Clarita said. “You know you’re the only one who can do it.”

“But my name, our name---”

“That doesn’t matter, you were born here in France!”

‘ _She has a point,’_ Enjolras realized, now piecing this together from what he knew of Spanish. “I would argue for a legal basis for your stay, but I cannot do that without your narration or at least a sworn affidavit,” he said to de Polignac. “Your appearance, or at least your testimony in some form is absolutely necessary.”

The young former aristocrat hung his head as he wrung his hands. “For what it’s worth…” he muttered. “Do you think I can do it?” he asked his wife.

Clarita nodded. “You’re the only one who can.”

De Polignac swallowed hard. “Five minutes. That should be enough for me to get ready,” he said to Enjolras before returning to the loft.

“Poor Audric,” Clarita murmured before now looking at Enjolras, Jacques and Prouvaire. “I am sorry for how I acted last night, to your wife especially,” she said to Enjolras, her cheeks reddening as she spoke. “She was so kind to me in letters, and I don’t think I repaid that very well on our first actual meeting.”

“She understands that you were quite in shock, and that the circumstances were less than ideal,” Enjolras replied calmly. “Rest assured, she does not hold it against you.”

The Spanish lady nodded as she looked down more demurely. “Is there any way I can make amends, such as calling on her?”

“It would be best to send her a message beforehand, such as a simple note,” Enjolras advised. “She would appreciate it very much.”

Clarita’s face lit up as she nodded once more. “Thank you, Citizen Enjolras.” She dropped into a slight curtsy, only to catch herself. “I’m sorry, it is an old habit from being at court all the time,” she said by way of explanation.

“Which makes me glad that we never actually had to _go_ there,” Jacques muttered.

“It’s a shame you were never actually summoned; in its own way it is rather fun,” Clarita said, even as the loft door opened. “What is it, Imelda?”

A young girl with dark wavy hair tumbling down her back stepped out, clutching a shawl around her shoulders. “The baby is beginning to fuss and---I didn’t know you have guests now!” she greeted, nearly walking back into the doorknob. 

Clarita laughed. “Don’t trip over yourself like that.” She nodded to the gentlemen. “I’m not sure if we got the time to make proper introductions yesterday, but here we are. Citizen Enjolras, Citizen Prouvaire, Citizen Thenardier, meet my cousin _Senorita_ Imelda Gracia Villanueva y’ Bautista. Imelda, please say hello to our friends here from Paris.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you. I hope there is more we can do for you and your family and friends,” Prouvaire said gallantly to Imelda, kissing her hand politely.

“You’re that wonderful poet, I heard. And I heard of you in Madrid, _Senor_ ,” Imelda said, addressing Prouvaire then Enjolras in turn. “It is a shame we did not meet.”

“Unfortunately, the urgency of our errand did not permit it,” Enjolras replied cordially. “Your cousins were very good hosts, however.”

Imelda smiled before looking to Jacques. “Your name is unusual, _Senor_.”

“I think _Senorito_ Enjolras will do instead of _Senor_ Thenardier; I don’t think I am older than you are,” Jacques said. He blushed to the tips of his ears before ducking his head. “Welcome to Paris, _Senorita_ Villanueva.”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face on seeing this scene, more so when he saw the bemusement in both Prouvaire’s and Clarita’s eyes. ‘ _This time, I have to warn Eponine of this,’_ he decided, even as de Polignac now made his reappearance from the loft.


	39. Getting to Know You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for mention of prostitution and discussion of Thenardier

Even if Eponine always paid attention to her attire and her toilette for social visits, she still felt an inexplicable uneasiness while preparing for this trip to 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire. “I s’pose I know it’s because no matter how nice we look, Citizenness Gillenormand already has her ideas about us,” she griped as she and Azelma were in a fiacre, having just dropped off Laure, Julien, Etienne, and Maximillien to spend the afternoon with Courfeyrac, Charlesette, and Armand.

“We also have our ideas about _her_ ,” Azelma pointed out sagely. “Maybe we’re right after all but it’s possible we’re actually wrong.”

“I wouldn’t mind being wrong, if it means that she also realizes that she is quite mistaken about the man she is to marry,” Eponine muttered while she adjusted her lace gloves, then smoothed out her blue dress over her middle. ‘ _In a few weeks I will have to let this out or find something else entirely,’_ she noted, biting her lip at the thought.

Azelma only shrugged, nearly letting her knit shawl slide off the shoulder of her purple dress. “Jehan says that love is blind and that she will not be moved by what I have to say. If he’s right, then at least no one can ever say that we didn’t warn Citizenness Gillenormand about what she is in for.”

“It might be she’ll just have to learn for herself, and regret it ever after,” Eponine mused aloud. “Then again how many years will that last?”

“Ponine!”

“He is almost seventy. I doubt he’s competing with Citizen Gillenormand the elder as to who will take up more space on this earth.”

Azelma frowned at the mention of this almost-centenarian. “If I didn’t know better, I would have thought that the old gentleman had an eye for Cosette.”

“You didn’t just know better, we _all_ knew.” The recollection of all the times she had seen Luc-Esprit Gillenormand’s roving gaze train on her dear friend was enough to make even Eponine shudder. ‘ _If I was in her place, I would have definitely moved out sooner just over that!’_ she thought. ‘ _But maybe she has known for a while, and what is going on these days is just the last straw.’_

When they arrived at 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire, Cosette met them at the door. “Aunt is just at her prayers, but she will join us in the sitting room soon,” she greeted breezily. As always she was attired daintily, this time in a tastefully cut rose-colored dress. Completing this elegant toilette was a single bloom nestled in her rich curls. “I’m glad you could come on such short notice.”

“You know that my offer to keep you company stands,” Eponine replied, hugging her friend warmly before stepping back to let Azelma greet Cosette in turn. “Where are your children now?”

“Marius is bringing them to see a show,” Cosette replied. Even though she smiled when she said her husband’s name, this light did not quite reach her eyes. She gestured to the stairs and nodded to her friends. “Shall we? Nicolette will have tea and some macarons ready soon, and she’s trying her hand these days with scones.”

‘ _Maybe all this convenience is one reason that Marius does not want to leave this house,’_ Eponine wondered. These days, it was difficult to imagine or even remember that there had been a time when the Baron Pontmercy had been living on next to nothing in the Gorbeau hovel. She bit her lip to keep from voicing this thought even as Cosette conducted them to her private sitting room, which had been aired out and brightened up with a fire in the hearth for this occasion.

Almost as soon as the three young women had gotten themselves settled the sitting room door opened once again to admit Celestine Gillenormand. “Good thing you three are on time,” she said, dusting off the high lace collar of her brown dress. “Where is Nicolette with our tea?”

“She’ll be along in a few minutes,” Cosette replied, folding her hands in her lap. “It’s good of you to gather us three here, dear Aunt.”

“You are my niece even if by marriage only, and I know that you have long been acquainted with my future stepdaughters,” Celestine Gillenormand said before looking at Eponine and Azelma. “Your father does not speak very much of you two. I believe it would be fair to meet you, and then decide for myself.”

“Thank you for this courtesy, Citizenness Gillenormand,” Eponine said, meeting the older woman’s impassive eyes. “What is there to decide on?”

“I consider myself a very good judge of character, child, and I would rather be objective. In your case I at least have a little to draw on, from my nephew Theodule,” Celestine Gillenormand said. “If I am not mistaken, you two were particularly close?”

“We were acquainted, but that was many years ago,” Eponine said in a level tone. ‘ _I wouldn’t say that we were all that close since he hardly knew anything of me,’_ she decided silently.

“I was under the impression that he was fond of you,” Celestine Gillenormand pointed out. “Then again, young men have their fancies.”

“If I may, Citizenness, I do have some questions I’d like to ask about yourself.”

“What might those be, child?”

“How did you and Citizen Thenardier actually meet?”

Celestine Gillenormand laughed. “Why he goes to church at Saint-Sulpice. There is a beautiful Chapel of the Virgin there. Weren’t you and your husband married at that same church nine years ago?”

“Yes, but we never linger in the chapels,” Eponine replied, glancing to the doorway as Nicolette entered with a large silver tray loaded with a tea service and several small platters piled high with pastel-colored macarons and sugar-dusted scones. She stood up to help relieve Nicolette of the pastries, taking care to place a plate near each of the sitters. “We were not raised to have any particular devotions to the Virgin Mary or any saint.”

Celestine Gillenormand clucked her tongue. “That is something you should improve on, for the sake of your husband and your children. A devout wife is her husband’s saving grace, and a heathen one his downfall.”

Out of the corner of her eye Eponine saw Azelma merely shrug before grabbing a macaron, while Cosette raised her eyes to the ceiling for a moment before moving to pour some tea. ‘ _I wonder if she knows that Cosette sometimes doesn’t quite finish a rosary,’_ she thought even as she took one piping hot cup and met Celestine GIllenormand’s scrutinous gaze. “I am sure then that your future husband shall have no problems wrangling with Saint Peter.”

“You are too harsh on your father,” the spinster pointed out. “After all his trials and tribulations when you were young girls, this is how you repay him?”

“I s’pose that he mentioned endlessly what he did for me and Azelma, but not a word about what he did for our brothers,” Eponine said. She snorted when Celestine Gillenormand looked at her blankly. “I’m right, am I not?”

“You have only one brother, the police officer,” the older woman said skeptically.

“Three. Our mother birthed two more boys after him,” Azelma chimed in. “Neville and Jacques were given to a woman named Magnon, and he did nothing to stop it.”

Celestine Gillenormand paused in the middle of sipping her tea. “Well he never mentioned it. You did after all retrieve them from her, I heard?”

“Gavroche did, and brought them to where I was staying,” Eponine corrected. “I s’pose he did not mention it either?”

“You must understand that he does not know everything about what happened to you children in those years; he would have helped if you had let him know,” Celestine Gillenormand reasoned. “This estrangement of yours pains him after all the sacrifices he made for you.”

Azelma nearly choked on a scone. “Sacrifices? I was the one who he sent out to bring in some money, when it was just me and him!” she said, setting down the pastry.

“Why, is there anything wrong with supporting your father in his old age?”

“He _sold_ me. More than once, and to fancy gentlemen he thought would pay to woo me just for a night or two.”

Eponine clasped her sister’s arm, even as she saw Cosette’s jaw drop with shock while Celestine Gillenormand’s eyes widened. “You could say that all of us were sold in some way or another except for Gavroche; he was lucky to have left home early,” she said, feeling Azelma tremble next to her. “But it is as my sister said; he had us hired out to men while he had our youngest two brothers stay with Magnon for a fee she rendered to our mother each month,” she continued more sternly.

“Then it was your mother’s moral failings to blame. Your father is such a moral man, and he said he would never let you girls go on stage. But he told me of some of this, and he said that you in particular had lovers that your mother tolerated,” Celestine Gillenormand retorted, looking straight at Eponine. She eyed the younger woman’s belly scornfully for a moment “An erring wife produces daughters who stray.”

“And what of a father who does not protect his children?” Eponine seethed. “I s’pose it is just as well that you and he will never have young ones of your own!”

“For my part, I am glad to have at least done what I could for my nephews, especially the Baron. The good Lord has willed that I should never bear children, and I will let it be,” Celestine Gillenormand answered. “But if you will allow me to be a grandmother of sorts, then I shall try to do my Christian duty to your own brood.”

Cosette coughed politely. “That would have to be discussed at some future point, if at all,” she said before picking up the teapot again. “Perhaps, Aunt, you could tell us of the work our parish is doing for orphans this coming winter?”

“They can come and see that if they wish,” Celestine Gillenormand said, now getting to her feet. “I had hoped that we could have reached some amiable accord, but it seems as if you young ladies are intent on slandering my future husband and even blaming your failings on him. I had expected more gratefulness from his daughters.”

“Aunt---” Cosette began, but Celestine Gillenormand had already quit the room. She sighed as she set down her now cool teacup. “Did you two come here just to tell her all of that?”

“It is the truth,” Azelma argued. “She has to know before getting married.”

“You had to do it now?”

“Those same reasons we said are the exact same ones for you not to let your family around _him_ either.”

“I would have done it differently,” Cosette murmured. “She’s going to tell Marius of this, and that is going to be another row!”

“Why is Marius believing her over you?” Eponine asked.

“She’s his aunt.”

“And you are his wife.”

Cosette sighed painedly. “I know you two don’t want Aunt as a stepmother, and that’s understandable, but I don’t think that any attempt to break up her engagement is going to work.”

“If she marries him, that’s going to be hell to pay,” Eponine pointed out. “Not just about the money either, by the way. He’d get to gloat that he’s accepted in high society again.”

“Accepted but not able to stay,” Azelma said, rolling her eyes. “I heard that he almost had one years ago that would have kept him, but he just had to get involved with that murder plot which Gavroche caught him in. Where does he stay now when he’s not visiting here?”

“Aunt never mentioned it,” Cosette began. “But you don’t mean to----”

“Call there? No, not really,” Eponine said thoughtfully. ‘ _But it shouldn’t be hard to case that place, or ask Gavroche what he knows of it.’_

Azelma groaned as she looked at her sister. “Not again, Ponine. You can’t be thinking of finding out something from there!”

“I s’pose it’s the only way, if he’s gotten her head turned with his version of the past,” Eponine pointed out. “I’m sure that something about the way he lives now doesn’t make sense, and it would be good for her to know if he is to actually be a proper husband after all.”


	40. The Home Office

Despite his family and friends’ entanglements and his own recent consultancy, Enjolras could count on one hand the number of times he had actually been on the premises of the Home Office of the French Diplomatic Corps. ‘ _If these walls could talk, what testimonies they would reveal,’_ he could not help thinking as he and Jacques accompanied de Polignac beyond the large double doors marking its entrance. Since it was a Saturday morning, this institution’s narrow anteroom was empty save for the presence of a bored-looking secretary behind a desk. “Good day, Citizen. Is Citizen Sardou in his office presently?” Enjolras greeted this man.

The secretary looked up from the back edition of the _Moniteur_ that he had in front of him. “What is your business with the Chief?” he asked, barely holding back a yawn.

“An important matter, and one of utmost discretion,” Enjolras replied briskly.

The secretary yawned and set down the newspaper. “The Chief has insisted on a system for those wishing to make an appointment with him---”

“There will be no need for that,” a voice cut through the mid-morning quiet. A tall and lanky man with salt-and-pepper hair and a well-trimmed mustache emerged from the anteroom’s far end. In the morning light it was apparent that his dark blue coat, though clean, had been mended a few times along the collar and the cuffs. His piercing eyes surveyed the three visitors for a moment, before he gestured to the room he had just come from. “Shall we, Citizens?”

‘ _He will not let on if he has recognized Citizen de Polignac,’_ Enjolras realized, taking de Polignac’s arm to steel him as they and Jacques entered Sardou’s private office. This room was about three-quarters of the size of the anteroom but was tastefully arranged to accommodate a plethora of books and folios. One wall was covered with several maps of Europe, dating from before 1789 up to a recent edition from 1840. “I take that you were expecting us, Citizen Sardou,” he said by way of greeting as soon as he shut the door.

“I was about to mull on the situation in Marseilles, then I heard your voice in the antechamber,” Sardou replied. He nodded to Jacques and de Polignac in turn. “Citizen Xavier Sardou, at your service. I remember you, Jacques, from you and Citizen Enjolras’ errand in the Mediterranean. You on the other hand must be Audric de Polignac.”

De Polignac swallowed hard. “How do you know my name, Citizen?”

“My father used to work with yours,” Sardou replied. “My very belated condolences on his passing, Citizen. Would that we have met in better circumstances than this horrible business with everyone fleeing from the north of Spain.”

“Citizen de Polignac has nineteen other companions with him, all Spanish citizens. Several are women, and one is a newborn child, his own. Another gentleman in their party is very ill and under the care of a physician here,” Enjolras said. “They are in need of asylum.”

Sardou rubbed his temples. “I was afraid you would say that.”

“What impediment is there to extending the right of asylum?” Enjolras asked. “We have granted refuge to individuals being politically persecuted, and it would only stand to reason to expand this for those fleeing instability and bodily danger.”

“We shall see.” The diplomat brought out a paper from a drawer before looking de Polignac in the face. “I have here a communication from the police in Marseille that your party, Citizen de Polignac, evaded arrest. This, in addition to the talk that you have been declared as ‘Catalonian sympathizers’ puts me in a difficult position.”

“We left Marseille in a hurry because we did not have passports; we literally fled Barcelona on a smugglers’ boat. I will freely admit to that. Had we known it was possible to claim asylum, we would have done so then and there,” de Polignac said, raising his head. “As for the accusation that we sympathize with the Catalonian cause, that is a lie.”

“You were in Barcelona, a known center of foment against the current government. What business did you have there?”

“Family business. My wife has kin there, as did some of our companions. Many of the people we visited have died in the bombardment.”

Sardou nodded slowly. “My condolences once again. Now answer me truthfully. You, at least, did not have ties with any of the individuals agitating for Catalonian autonomy?”

“None.”

“What of in the Basque region?”

“I do not know anyone in that part of Spain.”

“You answer well,” Sardou remarked. “You then do not have any opinions on the autonomy of the northern regions?”

“I leave it to the Spanish _cortes_ to bicker on that,” de Polignac replied. “I can vouch that my wife, her relatives who have accompanied us, and our friends are also of the same mind.”

“That is well and good,” Sardou said, putting the note back in his drawer. “Your situation is easy to resolve, Citizen de Polignac. You were born here in France, to French citizens, therefore you are indeed a French citizen. This same cannot be extended to your wife or even your child, since they were both born in Spain. No claim can be made either by the rest of your companions. Under most circumstances, you would be given the choice to remain here on French soil, but they would have to be repatriated back to Spain.”

De Polignac bristled. “I am not abandoning my family. If that is your stance, then I would just as soon return over the border with them.”

Sardou held up a hand. “Peace. You will see that your friend Citizen Enjolras has a point,” he said. “We have granted safe passage or a safe haven to different persons before, for various reasons. This situation however is unprecedented, even without the unique complications your story presents. Did you mean to stay in France, or did you have another destination?”

“We are not in a position to make plans for passage elsewhere,” de Polignac said. “I would rather not subject my immediate family to another move.”

“I see.” Sardou was silent for a moment as he placed his hands at the back of his head, contemplatively staring at the ceiling. “Where are you staying now?” he asked at length.

“We have them temporarily lodged at the Odeon,” Enjolras replied. “This is with the understanding that a more suitable situation should be found for them.”

“Well we can hardly inconvenience our Parisian poet laureate Prouvaire,” Sardou said wryly as he now took a pen and some note paper. After writing a few lines down and signing them, he handed this note to Jacques. “You will accompany Citizen de Polignac to this address endorsed here; we use this for billeting large delegations during meetings, but this will have to do for now. I need to discuss something with your father.”

De Polignac’s jaw dropped. “Citizen Sardou, you have my everlasting gratitude!”

“These lodgings are good for some weeks, enough time for us to conduct an investigation into this affair. If all goes in your favor, you will be permitted to reside peacefully here in France. Until this initial proceeding is over, you and only you will be allowed to walk the streets of Paris and transact business outside of your accommodation. Should you need anything, you may course it through your concierge or our attaches,” Sardou instructed. “The rest of you will not be permitted to seek employment, to go to any establishments, or even to go to the parks; the only permissible errands will be those that are medical in nature. I must warn you that any breach from your companions will have serious consequences, ranging from detention in our Parisian penitentiaries to immediate return to the Spanish border.”

The young émigré’s smile fell. “You mean to say we will be under house arrest?”

“I would not put it so harshly, Citizen,” Sardou said, holding up a hand again. “This is after all only temporary in nature.”

“I do not think it is fair that I will be the only one granted liberty,” de Polignac pointed out. “What would happen if they need to seek help, but I am incapacitated or unavailable?”

“We will make sure you will not want for anything,” Sardou said. “It is an official facility of the diplomatic corps, and always minded by a reliable staff member.”

Enjolras leveled a stern gaze at the diplomat. “You can guarantee that they will be safe and provided with some measure of comfort for health and recovery?” he asked.

“You can check the lodgings yourself after we talk; the house is just at the Place Lafayette,” Sardou replied, gesturing firmly for Jacques and de Polignac to leave the office. The diplomat laced his fingers together as he motioned for Enjolras to take a seat. “You know that they are not the only persons who are now roaming France without passports,” he said seriously.

“It would stand to reason that seeking legal documentation would be secondary to the preservation of life and limb in their situation,” Enjolras pointed out, crossing his arms.

“We do not know how many have fled Barcelona, or for that matter Catalonia and even the other northern territories. The Basque country is of course, always a matter of concern,” Sardou said. “If they are indeed many, the Home Office and the local departments will be obliged to put up some facilities to contain them for the time being.”

Enjolras felt his gut sour at these words. “They are not prisoners or detainees, Citizen. A more dignified arrangement should be put in place for them, be it transient or for asylum as we know it.”

“We already have a smuggling problem across our border; I am certain that this is an opportunity that will be exploited on both sides. This will not be our only problem,” Sardou retorted. “You have seen Spain for yourself, and how some factions there still perceive this Republic. Refugees make a perfect cover for sending an agent of disorder, one who could undermine all that we have worked these past years to build.”

“The need to protect our borders is clear, but it should not override our duty to our fellowmen,” Enjolras pointed out. “Is this not why you insist on conducting an investigation, and I suspect, you will do so for any other refugees who will appeal to your office?”

“That is true, but this may be construed as sympathizing with the Spanish moderates,” Sardou muttered. “You yourself said that General Espartero is a liberal.”

“A populist would be more appropriate, and even then it is questionable as to what extent and in what territory,” Enjolras reminded him. “He is not even the most liberal of them all; as you know there are those who would rather abolish the monarchy and the regency in Spain.”

“This situation is one reason we need an envoy to Spain, but that is the very thing I cannot appoint today,” Sardou said. “All the work of this year may be undone unless this matter is phrased delicately and perhaps, some appeal to General Espartero’s own Catholic upbringing.”

‘ _Which is Sardou’s purview, not mine,’_ Enjolras thought, now getting to his feet. “If you have nothing further to discuss, I thank you for showing compassion to a citizen as well as his nearest and dearest. I hope that you will do the same for those in his situation, or worse,” he said, holding out a hand to the diplomat.

“As I said to Citizen de Polignac, I am happy to be of service,” Sardou said, shaking Enjolras’ hand. “I hope you are right about him, and that I will not live to regret this.”

“You will not, I assure you,” Enjolras said. “Citizen de Polignac is a good and clever man, and as it would seem, with a strong sense of honor and justice.”

“Perhaps _too_ strong.” Sardou sighed as he glanced to the door. “Were it up to me as a private citizen, I would succor him and his companions right away. I am not, I am the head of this office and one of the country’s chief diplomats. I have duties that you are not bound to, even as I hold to our principles.”

“So it would seem,” Enjolras said, not averting his gaze till Sardou flinched. He donned his hat and headed to the door. “Good day to you once again, Citizen.”


	41. Getting To Like You

_September 18, 1842_

_Dear Se_ _ñ_ _ora Enjolras,_

_I would like to wish you a most wonderful day and thank you for all that you and your husband have done for mine and my own. I would also like to apologize for how I acted on our first actual meeting. I was in shock, but that was very poor of me to lock myself up like a bruja._

_Please allow me to make it up to you by inviting you to join us tomorrow afternoon at our lodgings at the Place Lafayette. We will do our best to serve things as we do in Madrid, but please feel free to bring any refreshment you like as well._

_I have also invited Se_ _ñ_ _oras Combeferre and Joly to join us as well._

_Wishing to be your friend,_

_Se_ _ñ_ _ora de Polignac_

Eponine folded this missive and tucked it into her skirt pocket with a smile. “I’m glad that today is your half-holiday, Chetta,” she said, looking to where her friend was wrapping up a basket of pastries as they stood in the living room of the Jolys’ apartment on the Rue Ferou. The nearby bells of Saint-Sulpice rang twice, marking the hour as just two in the afternoon. “I’m sure we’ll have some fun with this visit.”

“I prefer the word ‘intrigued,’” Musichetta replied. “Except for what few clients come in here from that part of Europe, I have never spoken to a Spaniard. How are we going to manage?”

“ _Se_ _ñ_ _ora_ de Polignac knows some French, and I borrowed one of the phrasebooks at home,” Eponine said, indicating a small book she’d tucked into another pocket of her skirt. She fiddled with her own basket, which had a dish of some orange pudding that she’d made earlier in the day. “Claudine said she’d also try to find one at home, so that’s one reason she’ll meet us at the Place Lafayette instead of heading here first. She’s also going to check on Combeferre’s patient there.”

“Not to mention that part of town is only a little closer to Picpus,” Musichetta added. She peered into the next room, where her three children Timothee, Eustache, and Gabrielle as well as Eponine’s son Etienne were playing a game. Joly sat near them, reading through some notes. “Patrice, will you need anything?” she asked him.

Joly grinned as he looked up from his reading. “Maybe just one of those jam puffs?”

Musichetta laughed as she reached into the basket to work a single fruit puff out from under the wrapping, before going over to pop the pastry into Joly’s mouth. “There’s more for the children _and_ for you later,” she said in his ear before kissing his cheek and running off, giggling. “Let’s go, Ponine, or we won’t have anything left to eat at the Place Lafayette!” she said to her friend.

“I never thought I’d see the day you’d be in something for the food,” Eponine quipped, snatching up her own basket of treats before they left the apartment and headed down to the street. ‘ _Maybe I might be able to bring back something for the children and Antoine later,’_ she thought as they crossed the Place Saint-Sulpice to the Rue de Cornelles; there was an omnibus stop at the end of the latter road. From here it was approximately less than an hour’s ride to cross the Seine by the way of the Pont Neuf, then the omnibuses would turn right to the next major stop on the Place du Chatelet. Beyond here, omnibuses reached the northern side of Paris either by the Rue Saint-Denis to reach the faubourg of the very same name, or by the Rue Poissoniere towards the abattoirs and factories in the foothills of Montmartre. ‘ _And right by Saint-Lazare, where my mother died,’_ Eponine could not help but think as she and Musichetta boarded a crowded omnibus.

As the two women found seats, a smartly dressed officer nodded to them. “It is good to see you here, Citizennesses,” Theodule Gillenormand greeted. “Where are you off to?”

Eponine hardly glanced at him over her shoulder. “You are rather far from the barracks, Captain Gillenormand.”

“My aunt has summoned me,” Theodule replied. “What’s this I hear that she will now be marrying your father? That will make us cousins!”

“That is not going to happen,” Eponine said curtly. ‘ _Not if I can do something about it at least,’_ she thought, seeing Musichetta blanch, perhaps from the memory of that ill-fated dinner.

Theodule whistled and shook his head. “Why, you do not want a mother?”

“Citizen, you will miss your stop if you prattle on like that,” Musichetta said acidly, looping her arm through Eponine’s. “That ride to the Place du Chatelet never seemed so long,” she said to the younger woman in Occitan.

“You’re telling me,” Eponine whispered. She did not bother hiding her sigh of relief when Theodule now turned his attention to talking with one of his fellow officers. ‘ _I never considered he would end up a relative,’_ she thought with a shudder.

Musichetta waited till Theodule alighted at the Place du Chatelet before she spoke once again. “What did you mean that the marriage will not happen?” she asked Eponine, now reverting to French.

“Azelma and I are going to find a way, somehow, to give Citizenness Gillenormand a reason to break it off,” Eponine answered.

Musichetta’s eyebrows shot up. “How will you do that?”

“I asked my brother to find out where Citizenness Gillenormand’s fiancé is lodging,” Eponine answered. “From there I might find some answers.”

“How will you do it without your actually having to talk to that man?”

“I s’pose that is what gossipy neighbors are for.”

Musichetta chuckled and shook her head. “You and Enjolras always come up with the craziest plans. Speaking of him, where is he today?”

“The Palais de Justice. As he always is on Mondays.”

“That’s good to know. All the same, you two need to be more careful if you’re really going to pursue trying to break up that horrible engagement we all witnessed.”

“Better now than when this gets too obvious,” Eponine whispered, placing her hands over her midsection. The memory of her nightmares flashed before her eyes, and she took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘ _Not just to save us now, but to save her too,’_ she told herself even as the omnibus continued north towards the Rue Possioniere.

The two women alighted near the Rue de Bellefond, a narrow thoroughfare coursing through the factories and abattoirs of this part of Paris. From here it was only a short walk towards the Place Lafayette, which was dominated by the Church of Saint Vincent de Paul. ‘ _How fitting that they should stay near this church,’_ Eponine observed as she and Musichetta walked towards a long house roofed with gray shingles. Heavy damask curtains in the windows gave this residence some much needed privacy as well as a quaint air.

Even before Eponine could knock, the door suddenly opened to reveal Clarita. “We saw you coming from upstairs, so I thought I’d meet you right away, _Se_ _ñ_ _ora_ Enjolras,” the young Spanish woman greeted as she smoothed down the voluminous blue and red skirts of her borrowed dress. Some color had returned to her cheeks, and she had artfully arranged her luxurious dark hair with a gold comb inlaid with pearls.

“I’m glad to visit; I only wish that some time soon you can return the favor by seeing me at my home,” Eponine replied. “I don’t think you and Citizenness Joly have met yet?”

“Not yet,” Clarita said with a smile as she clasped Musichetta’s hand. “It’s lovely to finally meet you _; Se_ _ñora_ Combeferre is here already and has so many delightful stories about you both.”

“We would love to hear yours too; Eponine here tells me that you have such a wonderful coterie,” Musichetta said as they headed up to the house’s second floor, which opened out onto a long corridor. “How many of you are staying here again?”

“Twenty, including _Señor_ de Polignac and our son,” Clarita replied. “It’s good that the Home Office gave us this place to stay in, even if the Odeon was already very nice to begin with.”

“The Odeon?” Musichetta asked incredulously.

“Jehan and Azelma put them up for a few days,” Eponine explained even as Clarita opened the door into a room that had been fitted up to serve as a receiving room or anteroom. Here, the damask curtains had been parted to let in some sunlight, which lent more illumination to the room than the brass lamps on the tables or the old chandelier hanging from the low ceiling. The chamber was furnished with several low couches and a pair of upholstered armchairs, surrounding a teak table almost creaking under the weight of several trays of assorted pastries and sweets. A large pot smelling of hot chocolate stood in the middle of these delicacies, surrounded by several small cups.

Clarita gestured to several other women seated in the room; the youngest of them had Clarita’s infant son in her arms while conversing with Claudine. All of the ladies were dressed in clean, hastily altered clothing, but tastefully accessorized with gold combs and necklaces. “ _Señora_ Enjolras, _Señora_ Joly, I’d like you to meet my cousin Imelda Gracia Villanueva y’ Bautista, my neighbors Beatriz Olivia Martinez y’ Hernandez and Soledad Agustina Navarro y’ Torres, and my schoolfriend Inez Gabriela Blanco y’ Serrano,” Clarita said, ushering them to some vacant seats. “Dear friends, I’d like to properly introduce _Señora_ Eponine Enjolras and _Señora_ Musichetta Joly. How is Alfonso?”

The raven-haired girl named Imelda smiled before handing over the baby to Clarita. “He’s sleeping well but I think he’d rather wake up to you,” she said.

‘ _So this is the girl that Jacques was charmed by,’_ Eponine thought, remembering now this name from what Enjolras had told her of the morning when he and Jacques had assisted de Polignac. After greeting the Spaniards, she smiled at Claudine. “I’m sorry if Chetta and I were delayed.”

“I only arrived ahead by less than ten minutes,” Claudine said amiably. “What is it you’ve brought with you?” she asked, gesturing to the baskets.

“I made some tiny jam puffs, while Eponine made some pudding,” Musichetta replied, setting down her basket. “What else do we have here?”

“The long pastries are _churros_ , the small dishes have custards, and the rolled cakes are called _pianonos._ They all go fantastically with the hot chocolate,” the lady named Beatriz said, daintily cooling herself with an ivory fan. “We tried our best with what we could find; the ingredients are so much easier to come by in Madrid.”

“Only because we could go around,” her friend Soledad, the oldest of this group, said reprovingly in more broken French. This middle-aged matron adjusted the scarf covering her shoulders. “Once we are allowed to roam again, we shall cook a feast.”

“Has there been any word about the preliminary investigation?” Eponine asked.

Clarita shook her head. “Isn’t there any way that it can be faster?”

Claudine sighed and rolled her eyes. “Not with the way the Foreign Office works. It will take a while, I am afraid.”

‘ _It seems as if a slow way of working is a prerequisite for half the diplomats here,’_ Eponine thought even as the women began passing around cups of hot chocolate. Much to her surprise the beverage was almost too thick to sip, prompting her to instead dip a _churro_ in it instead of taking another draught. Amid the chatter, she sneaked a look at her phrasebook, trying to pull together what she wanted to say. “In the meantime, let’s do what we can to make things as nice as possible here,” she said slowly. “ _Señora_ de Polignac tells me you are fond of reading.”

“Not all the time!” Inez laughed, fiddling with the mantilla that covered her high forehead. “Clarita here is crazy about your books though!”

Clarita blushed as she adjusted her grip on little Alfonso, who was beginning to stir and whimper. “Well we wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t! Excuse me for a little while, I have to let my son sleep in our room,” she said as she got to her feet.

Imelda glanced after her cousin as the latter left the room, and then looked to Eponine, Musichetta, and Claudine. “Before you got here I was talking about birds with _Se_ _ñ_ _ora_ Combeferre,” she said quietly. “But I don’t mind if we talk about politics too.”

“I’m only surprised that here in France, women can seem to talk more freely,” Beatriz remarked. “Don’t you ever fear your husbands?”

“Why should we?” Musichetta asked. “Why should any wife fear the man she’s married?”

“Wouldn’t the difference in opinion cause discord?” Soledad asked. “This is why we do not ask the gentlemen to join us on afternoons like these.”

‘ _But what if they are listening on the other side of the door?’_ Eponine wondered as she took a sip of hot chocolate. “I am sure that the gentlemen have meetings of their own, elsewhere,” she said pensively. “I am not saying we would or should, but I s’pose nothing is stopping ladies from ever asking the men what they talk about.”

Inez gasped, bringing the edge of her mantilla to her face. “Why would any wife ask about it? Wouldn’t that be getting out of one’s place?”

“Now wouldn’t _you_ want to know what _Se_ _ñ_ _or_ Blanco gets up to every now and then, when you aren’t looking?” Soledad laughed sardonically. “Why, my husband---” she began even as a knock sounded at the door.

Imelda got up to open the door. “Good day _Se_ _ñ_ _or_ ,” she cautiously greeted the man standing there. “May we help you?”

Eponine’s eyes widened as she saw who was standing there. “Gavroche? What are you doing here?” she asked.

Gavroche took a deep breath as he looked at his sister. “I have been looking for you everywhere. Nicholine said that you and Musichetta were here, so I found wings.”

‘ _I’ve never seen him like this,’_ Eponine realized as she got to her feet. “What’s happened?” she asked more slowly.

“There’s been an incident,” Gavroche began. “At the Palais de Justice.” 


	42. Cause for Immobilization

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for an explosion, injuries, and some talk of PTSD.

It was not unheard of for morning hearings at the Palais de Justice to run beyond midday, especially when a verdict seemed to be impending. ‘ _At the very least it abolishes uncertainty,’_ Enjolras mused as he got up from his seat at the prosecution bench at the close of a hearing, in order to cross the house and shake hands with the opposing counsel. “Well met, Citizen Millard. I hope your client can rest easy with the decision,” he said cordially.

“I told him to settle, but alas for his stubbornness,” the other lawyer said, gathering up his documents. He glanced towards where the defendant in an illegal eviction case was fuming to anyone who’d listen about the unjustness of his now having to pay damages to his tenant. “Trial law is exciting, but I prefer arbitration,” he said to Enjolras more confidentially.

“What good would that do, especially when the facts of the case need to be heard?”

“It would allow for fewer hearings, that is certain.”

‘ _Expediency at the expense of investigation,’_ Enjolras decided silently even as he looked at his colleague. “It cannot, and should not, be applied to all matters of law,” he replied. “A problem with arbitration is that it takes away the right to present one’s evidence and defense.”

“Does it always matter?”

“In the case we were in, it did.”

The lawyer named Millards sighed deeply. “This is why you will never be a rich man, Citizen Enjolras, especially with your _pro bono_ cases. Do be practical, my friend!”

Enjolras merely raised an eyebrow. “There are enough private practitioners in Paris to share the spoils. Good day to you.” He returned to the bench to gather up his papers, stuffing them neatly in his satchel. As he left the courtroom, he caught sight of Courfeyrac hurrying down the stairs in the lobby. “Are you in a hurry, Courfeyrac?” he asked his friend.

Courfeyrac stopped short and laughed by way of greeting. “Care to join me for a quick and hurried, very belated lunch?”

‘ _Half an hour should do,’_ Enjolras decided silently, taking the precaution of checking his pocket watch. “Has Grantaire recommended some place again?” he asked.

“Some stalls on the Marche Neuf,” Courfeyrac replied cheerily. “I heard you had the eviction case today, the one from the Rue du Canal?”

“Yes. It should have been straightforward.”

“Straightforward as far as facts are concerned, but people’s feelings are not as easily smoothed over.”

“Which is why you and I are still in this profession; were logic to govern all, people would have little to no problem interpreting a law and making use of it,” Enjolras pointed out even as they crossed the lobby. From near the door he could see the hustle and bustle in the courtyard, from hangers-on wanting to know the latest gossip as well as groups of journalists waiting on the outcomes of the morning hearings. Now and then he caught sight of carriages or omnibuses crossing from the Pont Saint-Michel to the Pont au Change. “How are matters with you, Armand, and Citizenness Karolyn?” he asked Courfeyrac in a matter-of-fact tone.

A grin spread across Courfeyrac’s face. “I was hoping you’d ask, since I do need your advice—” he began before suddenly turning to where someone was calling his name. “It will be just a minute,” he said quickly before hurrying to the staircase.

‘ _Perhaps I should go ahead to the Marche Neuf and bring him something to eat,’_ Enjolras thought even as he now stepped outside, where he was met by a hubbub of greetings as well as questions about the morning’s proceedings. “You will have to wait for the official publication, Citizens and Citizennesses,” he called over the din.

“It isn’t the decision we want, it’s your opinion!” a waggish journalist hollered.

“An opinion I will reserve, for the time being,” Enjolras retorted even as he made his way through the crowd. On the far side of the courtyard he saw what appeared to be a scuffle, followed by two men suddenly leaving what appeared to be a wrapped box on the curb. “Excuse me, you left---” he called before suddenly the air was rent with a deafening roar. The force of the explosion knocked him backwards right on top of a piece of masonry that had been dislodged in the blast. He fell to the pavement, gasping from the pain that was now suddenly shooting through his chest.

“Enjolras! Look at me! Keep your eyes open!” he heard Courfeyrac call from seemingly far off. After a moment his friend’s face came into focus; the younger lawyer was pale with fright and nearly shaking. “Are you hurt?”

“Not very much---” Enjolras managed to say as he tried to sit up, only to find himself doubled over once again with pain. “This should pass,” he said between shallow breaths.

Courfeyrac shook his head. “We need to get you to a doctor, like everyone else. Stay still.” He looked around frantically. “Someone get help!”

“We’ve sent a runner to the Rue de Pontoise, citizen!” a bystander shouted.

“To the Prefecture? What use is that?” Courfeyrac sputtered.

‘ _Figuring out what that box was doing there,’_ Enjolras thought even as he attempted to move into a more comfortable position. Even though his ears were still ringing, what was more troubling was his sudden inability to catch his breath. He willed himself to calm down, even as he could feel the pain beginning to die down into an ache right over his ribs. ‘ _Perhaps if I stay still, this will be manageable,’_ he told himself even as he could hear more people rushing into the square either to assist with rescuing the wounded or to see what had happened.

Suddenly he saw Courfeyrac start, even as another familiar face came into view. “Of all times to see you here, Gavroche,” Enjolras greeted, trying to keep his voice level.

“You’ve gotten yourself quite laid low, old statue,” Gavroche quipped, but his eyes were wide with a seriousness that Enjolras had very rarely seen before. He waved to a colleague milling about. “My friend in a suit, please get these men to the Hotel Dieu.”

“Why, Citizen Enjolras isn’t injured---” the other policeman protested.

“He can’t breathe!” Courfeyrac snapped. “I’ll stay with him, Gavroche. You have to get Eponine, maybe even Combeferre or Joly,” he said.

“Next of kin first, then we’ll see how the doctoring coats chase each other,” Gavroche said. “You’d better stay awake for Ponine, or she’s going to give us all an earful,” he warned Enjolras before motioning once more for some other officers to assist them.

Enjolras gritted his teeth to keep from groaning out when someone slid a plank under his back to help carry him to the nearest hospital. ‘ _There goes the rest of the afternoon,’_ he could not help thinking even as he now got a better sight of the chaos in the courtyard of the Palais de Justice. The ground was covered with debris, while here and there the wounded cried out for help or harangued the policemen and doctors who’d arrived on the scene. Some of the injured he recognized from the lawyers and clerks of the Palais de Justice, but a good many were clearly bystanders. “Did anyone else see—” he asked Courfeyrac.

“I know what you’re thinking, Enjolras, and now is not the time to investigate,” Courfeyrac said firmly. “Eponine is going to have some words about this, and what she hasn’t said, Combeferre certainly will. You need to lie still before you worsen something; I may be no doctor but I think I can guess what a broken rib is.”

‘ _Of all things it had to be that,’_ Enjolras cursed inwardly. Some part of him was a little relieved that he had not taken a blow to the head, the same way as Eponine had earlier that summer, but what little assurance he had in this fact was soon dimmed by another onslaught of pain. ‘ _Move too much, you might puncture a lung,’_ he told himself, remembering vaguely some discussion with Combeferre and Joly about this sort of injury.

The front hall of the Hotel Dieu had been turned into a makeshift receiving and treatment room for the victims of the blast; the floor was filled with stretchers as well as what doctors and nurses who had not been summoned to the scene. Enjolras found himself being set down atop a cot a little away from the entryway, but right within sight of where some persons were desperately trying to stem the bleeding from another unfortunate who’d been brought in. He tore his gaze from this harrowing sight and instead met Courfeyrac’s still worried look. “A few minutes earlier, we would have been in the Marche Neuf,” he said dryly.

“Or closer to the blast,” Courfeyrac pointed out with a shudder. “I was on my way out when I heard it, and I saw you pretty much taken off your feet. Doesn’t anything else hurt?”

“Just my chest.”

“You’ve definitely broken something, but at least it isn’t your skull. Then where would the judiciary be?”

Enjolras would have laughed at this quip, but another stab of pain had him only smirking weakly. After a few minutes he finally saw a doctor hurrying in their direction. “How many are here, Citizen?” he managed to say.

“Too early to say,” the harried physician said, bringing out a bag of instruments. “You have no visible injuries. Why did they bring you here, Citizen Enjolras?”

“I might have broken something, maybe a rib,” Enjolras said through gritted teeth as he looked at Courfeyrac. He pointed to his right side. “The worst of it is here.”

The doctor nodded grimly as he carefully helped Courfeyrac unbutton Enjolras’ coat and waistcoat, pausing time and again when the wounded man tensed. At last he was able to uncover and then examine an ugly looking bruise on Enjolras’ chest. “You definitely have a contusion there and a fracture under. Luckily it seems like only one rib is broken, but should heal nicely,” the doctor warned after finishing his examination. “Does he have family nearby?”

“We’ve already sent for his wife. She should be here soon enough,” Courfeyrac said.

“Good. You will have to stay abed for about a month and a half, till it heals,” the doctor said to Enjolras. “I know you are neighbors with my colleague Citizen Joly, and of course Citizen Combeferre will check on you from time to time. You will be in good hands.”

“When they can manage it,” Enjolras said. Inasmuch as he knew as his friends would be more than happy to help him with recuperation, it still felt unseemly to expect them to now take time out of their busy schedules. He raised an eyebrow when he saw the doctor beginning to jot down something on a pad. “Is that a prescription?”

“To help with the pain. You’ll need to take good and proper breaths, to stave off the autumn cough. You can only do that with some pain relief,” the doctor said. “It’s only a little laudanum.”

‘ _Not again,’_ Enjolras thought, casting a baleful gaze at the note. “Are there other alternatives?” he asked.

“This is not the sort of thing you can simply drink away,” the doctor pointed out. “Anyway, you’ll find it will help you sleep better.”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face even as the doctor now left to see other patients. “I’m not taking this. Not even if I was offered a thousand _louis d’ors_ for it,” he said flatly as he shifted in an attempt to get more comfortable on the cot.

“Does this have anything to do with the laudanum you had in your things in Rome?” Courfeyrac asked. “I saw that Combeferre threw out that vial as we were heading back to France.”

“Castillan Nightmare Tonic.”

“Oddly enough I heard it was supposed to promote a restful, even dreamless slumber.”

“That would depend perhaps on the sleeper,” Enjolras mused aloud. “That or other circumstances,” he added, remembering now the troubled state that had plagued him and caused him to even ask for such a tincture during his stay in Madrid.

Courfeyrac was silent for a few moments. “Sometimes in my dreams, I see how the barricade went differently. Us not getting to Jehan in time, and the firing squad doing its business. All of us falling one by one,” he said. “But morning light usually banishes those phantoms. I am guessing you see those too?”

“A variation thereof,” Enjolras replied. ‘ _And then some,’_ he thought, recalling anew the other scenes from that particular nightmare of his. “Those are just imaginings, worse than any fancy.”

“Possibilities,” Courfeyrac pointed out. “They seem almost too real.”

“Perhaps. What was it though you wanted to tell me about, before you were called away?” Enjolras asked, seeing his friend’s mien grow gloomy.

Courfeyrac took a deeper breath, now one of relief. “I am considering asking Charlesette to marry me, soon.”

“Didn’t you just renew your friendship only a few weeks ago?”

“It is no more hasty than say, you and Eponine when you two finally stopped making fools of yourselves all those years ago?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes at this jibe. “Well if she is amenable to it, and if she gets on well with your son, then that is good,” he said. “I would have to say that most, if not all of our friends, look on your match favorably.”

“I should hope so. Charlesette and I are the only family left to each other,” Courfeyrac explained. “Her parents just died, so that is why she is mistress of her estate, and that is why I will take some time before proposing. She does not wear mourning for the same sort of reason that I have not brought Armand ever to Auch.”

“If you will have any need of assistance, let me know,” Enjolras said, finally managing a smile. “However, since you are the last bachelor among us, I doubt though that you will have any shortage of advice!”


	43. Fragility

_“The blast could be heard as far as the Rue de Pontoise. I didn’t see it happen, Ponine, but I was there when he was brought to the hospital.”_

Even with Gavroche’s calm mien as he explained matters before heading off on still more errands, Eponine still could not banish the shakiness that had taken root in her limbs all throughout the fiacre ride to the Hotel Dieu. “Antoine is going to be fine. He’s survived worse,” she whispered over and over again even as she felt Claudine’s hand on her arm. “I s’pose it will be better if he’s at a hospital?” she asked her friend.

“The doctors will do their best,” Claudine said in a level tone, smiling slightly. “Has he ever been to one before?”

Eponine shook her head. “He’s never had a reason to be at one. I’m so sorry that we had to leave our meeting almost as soon as it began.”

“Musichetta will have it in hand, and I daresay that the experience will be good for her,” Claudine pointed out. She squeezed Eponine’s arm again by way of reassurance. “It will come out right for everyone.”

‘ _I really hope so,’_ Eponine thought, biting her lip as she looked out the fiacre window. Even with her eyes open she almost saw before her the harrowing images from some of the times that she and Enjolras had faced mortal peril throughout the years. ‘ _Will it be as bad as that time there was that grenade blast outside Notre Dame?’_ she wondered silently even as she felt the carriage come to a stop.

Claudine took a deep breath and looked at Eponine. “Whatever happens in there, Francois and I will always be ready to help. Joly and Musichetta too. We’ll help you and Enjolras pull through,” she promised.

“You always have. Thank you,” Eponine said more bravely as they stepped out and walked to the entrance of the hospital. The place was full of hangers-on milling about and exchanging conjectures, even as a few harried doctors and a few constables tried to restore some semblance of order. The two women made their way through this crowd up to the hospital entrance, where a guard showed them into the lobby, which was crowded with doctors seeing to patients lying in cots or sitting up in chairs or even on the floor.

Almost immediately Eponine caught sight of Enjolras lying on a cot, clearly trying to listen to one of Courfeyrac’s long anecdotes. The very sight of him almost brought a sob of relief to Eponine’s lips but she bit it back even as she went to her husband’s side. Without a word Eponine kissed Enjolras deeply, now finding herself quite unable to let go of him, till she felt him pull away first for air. “Antoine?” she whispered, seeing him grimace even as he clasped her hand desperately.

“It’s just a broken rib,” Enjolras said between shallow breaths. “It’ll heal.”

Eponine bit her lip. “It’ll take an awful long time to, simply from how you look.” She managed a smile at Courfeyrac. “Thank you for staying with him. It’s good that you’re safe too. ”

“Of course, I am always happy to serve as a distraction,” Courfeyrac said. He nodded to Claudine. “Is Combeferre at the Sorbonne today?”

“He has a lecture now, but I will make sure he comes by to help,” Claudine replied. She looked around the crowded lobby and shook her head despondently. “How many were wounded?”

“Fifty, as far as we know,” Enjolras said. “Two who were closest to the blast perished.”

Eponine shut her eyes at this even as she adjusted her hold on his hand. “And how far exactly were you?”

“Only to lose my footing,” Enjolras replied, wincing as he tried to make himself comfortable on the cot. “We need to free up space for others.”

“Not till the doctors say so,” Courfeyrac said. He glanced to where a physician was just passing by. “Citizen, this man’s next of kin is here. Are we free to go?” he asked.

The doctor nearly started but regained his composure quickly before approaching the four friends. “You are this gentleman’s spouse?” he asked Eponine.

Eponine nodded. “I will bring him home straightaway. Is there anything I should know?”

“He needs to rest for a month and a half, maybe more. Any excessive strain will set back his recovery,” the doctor said. “I’ve written a prescription for something to help the pain, and I would suggest that he take it for comfort’s sake and to make his breathing easier.”

“It’s laudanum,” Enjolras muttered through gritted teeth. “I will try to go without it.”

Eponine rolled her eyes. “Sometimes you’re the most stubborn person, Antoine.”

“Sometimes?”

“I s’pose the rest of the time, it’s me.”

Enjolras smirked even as he slowly sat up, waving away everyone’s attempts to support him. “This means I will not get to be at the courts for the next month,” he muttered.

“We’ll get to that soon enough,” Eponine said, reaching over to loosely button Enjolras’ coat in some attempt to give him some modesty before they left the building. Even as she walked slowly to be at his side, it only began to sink in just how close a brush he had with mortality. ‘ _Not this way, not like this,’_ she begged silently even as they went out to where Claudine already hailed a fiacre for the four of them. She kept her eyes on Enjolras throughout the entirety of the ride to the Rue Guisarde, taking his hand to soothe him each time he grimaced from being jostled with each bump on the road. She sighed with relief as the carriage at last came to a stop outside their home. “We have a while till the children get home; they’ll be stopping by the Jolys’ place to get Etienne and they’ll play there for a little bit. I s’pose they won’t disturb you when they all get back,” she said to her husband.

Enjolras gritted his teeth. “Eponine, I’m not an invalid. I’ll be fine downstairs---” he began only to end up wincing once again. “It’s only one rib.”

“A broken bone is a broken bone, and you’ll have Francois telling you so when he gets here,” Claudine admonished him, alighting first to give her friends some room to help Enjolras out of the carriage. “I’ll fetch him at the Sorbonne, quickly.”

After making sure that Enjolras was steady on his feet. Courfeyrac went on ahead to unbolt the gate. “Hopefully he can help us talk some sense into you, my friend,” he said to his colleague. “I mean it when I say that if you do not cooperate with doctors’ orders, you may be laid up longer than a month and a half.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Again, it is only one rib.”

“Which still hurts, and I’ve never seen you in such pain before,” Eponine argued even as she fished in her pocket for her key to the front door. “I’ll take it from here, Courfeyrac. Thank you so much for all the help,” she said as they entered the house.

“You mind if I rest my feet here a little?” Courfeyrac asked, gesturing to the living room.

“Stay as long as you need,” Eponine replied, knowing full well that their friend intended to stay around at least till more help arrived. It took some minutes to get Enjolras up the stairs and into the safety of their room, after which she shut the door. “I don’t like it any more than you do, Antoine, but you have to stay up here and rest,” she said, sitting next to Enjolras on a chair next to their bed.

“There is much to do. I’ll be fine in short order, you’ll see,” he insisted.

“I hope you’re right, but believe me, it will be a while.” She swallowed hard, if only to keep back the anxiety still building in her chest. “Please. For me?”

Enjolras sighed, only to bite back a grunt when he tried to bend to unlace his boots. “Admittedly, I will need help with this,” he muttered, reddening slightly.

Eponine shook her head knowingly as she reached down to help him remove his footwear before helping him take off the rest of his dusty and soiled clothing. She swallowed hard as she now saw the entirety of the dark bruise on his right side and the tension throughout his muscles owing to the lingering ache there. “You’ve been taking good care of me all these months, since we got back from Italy. Now it’s my turn,” she said as she helped him move to the bed.

“This will pass. You’ll be carrying our child till the next year,” he pointed out, lying down stiffly before moving to prop himself up on the pillows.

“Yes, but it’s come to the easier part of it all, while this little one isn’t all that big yet,” she said even as she heard what sounded like a knock on the front door. “Speaking of the children, that shouldn’t be them yet unless something has happened,” she muttered, quickly kissing his cheek before rushing downstairs.

Her jaw dropped as she caught sight of Azelma and Prouvaire in the front hall, asking Courfeyrac question after question. “How did you all hear of what happened?” she asked incredulously, hopping off the last two steps.

“It’s the talk everywhere, and there are searches for the perpetrators. Bahorel and some of his men just checked the Odeon; he himself might come to visit later,” Prouvaire replied. “How are you, especially Enjolras?”

“I’m fine. Antoine is in quite a bit of pain, but you _know_ how he is when it comes to medication,” Eponine said.

Azelma sighed before hugging her sister. “You shouldn’t be fretting about that, Ponine. Can’t you mix that in his food or drink?” she suggested.

Eponine shook her head. “He’d be terribly cross, and that’s not going to do.”

Azelma, Prouvaire and Courfeyrac exchanged knowing looks among themselves. “We’ll be on hand till things settle here,” Prouvaire said. “Where are the children?”

“Etienne is at the Rue Ferou. The others should stop by there, except for Neville since he has work today and he might go to the Invalides,” Eponine began, only to see Musichetta in the yard. “I thought you’d still be at the Place de Lafayette!” she said to her friend.

“We talked a little while but everyone was so worried about you and Enjolras, so they sent their regards and a return invitation,” Musichetta said, indicating a basket she carried. “You also forgot your things there by the way.”

Eponine laughed as she took the basket from her friend, only to find it loaded with some of the pastries that were supposed to be for their meeting. On top of all of these was a note:

_Dear Se_ _ñ_ _ora Enjolras,_

_I am so sad we did not get to talk for very long, and I hope that your husband will be well soon. Please let us know when we may meet again, hopefully soon. If those diplomats allow us to move around once again, we do not mind visiting you instead. We’ll bring the hot chocolate._

_Fondly yours,_

_Clarita de Polignac_

Eponine sighed deeply before managing a smile. “This is terribly kind of them. Of all of you, really,” she said.

“It’s the least anyone can do,” Musichetta pointed out. “I will send Patrice over to have a look at Enjolras, even if I know Combeferre is on the way. What time do you want me to send the children over?”

“Just for supper. I could use the time,” Eponine said, hugging her friend before the latter hurried out of the yard. “Will you be staying?” she asked Azelma, Prouvaire, and Courfeyrac.

“More like we’ll be cooking supper for you all,” Azelma said gleefully. “What did you have in mind to make?”

“I had some haricot beans, and potatoes, and I was planning to get some bread,” Eponine replied, trying to remember what she had in the larder and the kitchen.

“Say no more, I have something in mind and you two are going to help me,” Azelma said, pointing to Prouvaire and Courfeyrac even as a knock sounded on the door. “Now who is that?”

“Combeferre most likely,” Eponine whispered. Much to her surprise, now even Joly was waiting outside with his colleague. “That was quick. If you’re here, who’s with the children?”

“Claudine is there for a while, but that’s no problem since we ran into Chetta on the way here,” Joly explained. “It’s bad isn’t it?” 

“He’s really not himself,” Eponine whispered. “I mean he’s stubborn as ever, but we all know how he is when he is very unwell.”

“As is to be expected,” Combeferre remarked. He glanced upwards. “Enjolras won’t have any medication for pain relief, I surmise?”

“It’s laudanum, and you know how he does not trust it,” Eponine said with a sigh. “Could you perhaps suggest something else?”

“Liniments and poultices, but they will have an effect on all the bed linen,” Joly said. “You’ll have to pay the laundress extra.”

“Better than ether or chloroform,” Combeferre muttered, glancing upwards again to the sound of footsteps. “Enjolras, don’t even _think_ about going down the stairs, we’re all heading up in a while!” he shouted.

“That isn’t necessary!” Enjolras retorted in a pained voice.

“It definitely _sounds_ like it is!” Eponine shot back, going to the stairs in time to see Enjolras slowly making his way back to the room. ‘ _Antoine really has to be so impossible at times,’_ she thought, glancing to where Azelma had pulled Courfeyrac and Prouvaire into the kitchen before she hurried back upstairs.

She stormed into the bedroom just as Enjolras was sitting on the bed again. “Why is it so difficult just to rest, even for a few minutes?’ she fumed, putting her hands akimbo.

“I simply wanted to know who else was in our house,” Enjolras answered tersely. His face was covered with a sheen of sweat, clearly from the effort of putting on a clean pair of pantaloons and a shirt for modesty’s sake. “It would not have taken much effort.”

“Yes, while getting yourself into those clothes and then maybe going down the stairs? You look about a quarter of the way to killing yourself,” Eponine retorted.

“It is not as if I was planning to lift anything or leave the house, Eponine!” Enjolras moved as if to cross his arms, only to stop halfway before glaring at Eponine. “I would not consider either of those as overly taxing.”

“To a man without any injuries, perhaps!” Eponine sighed deeply as she sat on the bed but did not look at him. She shut her eyes for a moment, only to shake her head when she saw once again before her the chaos at the Hotel Dieu. “Any closer to that blast, we wouldn’t be here right now. I’d be looking for you in the morgue at the Rue de Pontoise, and I’d have to tell our children why you wouldn’t be coming home!”

“Do you think I haven’t thought of it?”

“I know your mind, but I can’t read it, Antoine.”

Enjolras sucked in a breath between gritted teeth before looking up at the ceiling again, and then at her. “It was never my intention to upset or worry you. My apologies,” he said slowly.

“I don’t want you to make things worse than they already are,” Eponine whispered, now turning to meet his eyes, which were dark with pain as well as anxiety. She had to swallow past the lump in her throat before speaking again. “I…we could have lost you today. And I know you want to get better soon, but you can’t do that by being stubborn. Not this time.”

“Coddling me in here will not help, and nor will laudanum,” Enjolras reasoned.

“Combeferre and Joly are here, and I am sure they have some ideas that might be better for you,” Eponine said. “But that can only go so far, since most of the time you’ll have to rest here at home. With me.”

“Your work though?”

“I’ll move my desk up here if I have to.”

Enjolras gave her a sidelong glance. “I could simply recover faster, then be able to work with you in the study.”

“I s’pose that would be fair enough,” Eponine quipped, moving closer to kiss him gently. She caught his hands before he could instinctively pull her closer, settling instead for squeezing his knuckles as she touched her forehead to his. “But for today, I’m glad you’re safe, Antoine.”

“So am I,” he admitted, touching her cheek even as he heard a knock on the door. “That must be them now?”

“And long in coming,” Eponine said, wrinkling her nose at the odor of liniments. She ran her hands through his hair before straightening out her clothes. “It’s unlocked!” she called, sitting back to let their physician friends in.


	44. Agent Provocateurs

Contrary to what most would expect, being confined to bed hardly granted Enjolras any measure of mental rest. ‘ _Simply because lying here away from everything is hardly a step closer to any conclusions,’_ he mused silently the next morning as he found himself quite alone in his room after breakfast in bed. A quick glance at his watch on the bedside table told him that it was only past nine in the morning, not even quite two hours since all the youngsters except for Etienne left for school. He frowned at the odor of a poultice that had been under some loose bandages wrapped around his torso for most of the night; his skin, the bandages and even the bed linens all smelled of camphor, sweat, and a concoction of herbs that reminded him of an apothecary.

Slowly he got to his feet, ignoring the ache in his side, and crossed the room to open the windows. The draught of fresh air entering the bedchamber was enough to clear the fog from his mind and have him taking a deeper breath than he would have dared the day before. “A late start to the day but a start nonetheless,” he decided as he began rummaging for clean clothes.

Before he could amble to the washroom, he heard Eponine coming up the stairs. “I should let you know I was not planning to go downstairs,” he said, raising an eyebrow at the querulous look she gave him.

“Yes, and I s’pose you thought that you could manage the bandages all by yourself,” Eponine said a little crossly, putting one hand akimbo. She sighed deeply before going up the last steps and taking his hands. “Let me.”

“You’re my wife, not my nurse.”

“Am I not allowed to worry or care?”

“Eponine---” Enjolras began, but she simply shook her head and walked past him into their room. He gritted his teeth as he glanced after her, until he heard Etienne toddling up the stairs. “Go to your _maman, petit_ ,” he told the boy.

Etienne’s face screwed up as he looked at Enjolras. “Papa sick?” he asked, making a waving gesture in front of his nose.

“I’m better now, _petit_ ,” Enjolras said, gently ushering the child towards the bedroom before making his own way to the washroom. He set down the clean clothes and went about the trying business of removing the bandages before getting into the tub, only to find that each attempt to unwind a turn of linen sent pain shooting anew through his broken rib. Before he could retreat to find scissors or a knife to cut the bandages away, he heard the washroom door open. “I know. You can say ‘I told you so’,” he deadpanned, glancing at Eponine.

“I won’t,” Eponine said, rubbing her temples before taking hold of one end of the bandage. “Hold your arms up, Antoine. This won’t be long.”

Enjolras sucked in a deep breath before raising his arms to the level of his shoulders, just to give Eponine some room to unwrap the linen. For a short while they were both silent, till he heard her humming under her breath. “I take you are no longer upset,” he remarked when she was in front of him once again.

“I am not ready to be a widow at twenty-seven, and thirty-six is too young for you to die,” Eponine said, looking up at him fiercely as she let the soiled bandages fall to the floor. “Especially with all the children so young and one more on the way!”

“As you can see, I am very much alive and in no danger,” Enjolras argued. Even so he could not ignore that frisson of worry that arose from Eponine’s having brought up the matter again. ‘ _Were something to happen to me, she’d manage well with the children and everything she does, but that would give her father more impetus to go after her again,’_ he realized silently.

Eponine swallowed hard as her hands found his. “You’re safe here at least. But when you get back to work, or something, then what?” she asked, moving to help him out of his pantaloons. “It does not make sense. Who were they really after? I s’pose that my brother, as well as Bahorel and the other detectives will find out soon enough, but it still is frightening.”

“There were many cases being heard yesterday at the Palais de Justice.”

“Yes, but I don’t think that after the trial of Citizen D’Aramitz, that there are any cases that have all of Paris watching. What if it wasn’t to do with any of them at all?”

‘ _That is always something to consider,’_ Enjolras thought even as he sat down on a stool to begin washing with some water from one of the large pitchers kept in this small room for this very purpose, even as Eponine hung back to watch. He winced as he looked down at his right side, which was an ugly purplish-blue. “Admittedly I will need help for that,” he muttered.

“You stubborn man,” Eponine said with a wry smile as she picked up a washcloth. She sighed as she helped him rinse off the last of the poultice. “Are you going another night like this? You hardly got any rest,” she asked. 

“Hopefully, I will not have to. The pain is rather less than it was yesterday.”

“Is it?”

“I am able to sit up, as you can see. It feels like progress,” he said.

She paused for a moment to consider him before smiling more relievedly. “You haven’t winced or frowned much either,” she whispered. “Are you really trying to heal faster?” 

“You know how I never back down from a challenge, especially when I have every reason to win.” He touched her cheek even as he clasped her other hand, which was resting on her midsection. “Thank you, Eponine.”

Eponine smiled once more before kissing him. “Don’t let me lose _you_ , Antoine,” she whispered as she ran a hand through his hair before picking up a towel to help him dry off. “I s’pose you can try to rest today, please?” she asked while she helped him get dressed.

“I was hoping to do some work on the primer,” Enjolras said, pausing to button up his waistcoat. “A little writing and some more reading, with the materials I already have in the study,” he qualified, seeing Eponine’s eyes go wide with indignation.

“It’s only a day!”

“A day I cannot afford to lose.”

Eponine rolled her eyes. “Then I s’pose we’ll have to work up here. It’s just as well that I have a writing slope that I can move wherever I want,” she muttered even as a knock sounded on the front door downstairs. “I’ll get that, it’s probably the mail,” she said, giving him another kiss before hurrying out of the washroom.

‘ _The mail carrier does not knock that harshly,’_ Enjolras observed even as he gave himself a once-over before heading out of the washroom. Even as he did so, he heard Eponine hurrying up the stairs once again. “What is it?”

“It’s Bahorel. He has news,” she said, holding up a hand to catch her breath before turning to look at their friend, who was halfway up the stairs with Etienne in tow. “It’s about yesterday.”

“Good day Enjolras. How are you feeling?” Bahorel greeted cheerily as he let Etienne climb the rest of the way up the stairs.

“More alive. How goes your investigation?” Enjolras asked candidly, stepping aside to let Etienne go to his mother, who promptly scooped him up.

“It has ended,” Bahorel said. “We had a merry goose chase across the Seine and back, terminating at Notre Dame de Lorette.”

‘ _That location seems arbitrary, and too near the Place de Lafayette,’_ Enjolras thought, recalling this church just off the main roads leading to Montmartre. “The suspects?”

“Two of them found dead.” Bahorel drew a line in the air above his throat. “Clearly, they were left for someone to find.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “What gave you that impression?”

“Our two suspects had Spanish passports; whether they are legitimate or false is still be ascertained,” Bahorel replied. He brought out a paper from his pocket. “In your travels did you meet a certain aristocrat named du Bellay?”

“A few times. What of him?”

“Some correspondence of his was found on their persons. What is he?”

“An émigré. He was in favor with Citizen D’Aramitz as well as some members of the Madrid elite,” Enjolras replied. ‘ _As for his current standing it would be hearsay coming from me, but better confirmed by de Polignac,’_ he thought.

Bahorel nodded sagely. “Would he have anything to do with your friends that the Home Office is assisting?”

“They are not on the same faction, as it appears,” Enjolras said. “When Jacques and I were in Madrid, the situation was rather tense between Citizen du Bellay and some of the other émigrés. Recent events would show that they have taken a turn for the worst.”

The detective laced his fingers together as he regarded Enjolras and Eponine. “Does anyone else know of this arrangement?”

“The Combeferres, the Provuaires, the Jolys, and I s’pose the Grantaires too if Nicholine was the one who told Gavroche the address,” Eponine replied. She bit her lip as she looked at the two men. “I s’pose we now have reason to worry?”

“Only if this attack is not an isolated one. The ones who have to watch their backs are your Spanish friends,” Bahorel said. “From what I gleaned from official sources and scuttlebutt, they are still under investigation by Citizen Sardou himself. This of course will complicate matters as they may be considered as _agent provocateurs_ ,” he added.

‘ _Which may revoke any arrangement for asylum,’_ Enjolras realized. “Can they be personally called upon to clear their names at least in this matter?” he asked.

“Only if Citizen Sardou will allow,” Bahorel said. He put his hands in his pockets as he shook his head. “Other than that, it is out of my hands.”

“Antoine, I know what you’re thinking,” Eponine began. “And you are _not_ going to Citizen Sardou yourself to deal with this!”

“That was certainly not on the agenda,” Enjolras answered, looking at her calmly. Even as he said this he could feel pain welling up in his rib, but he bit back a grimace as he stood up straight. “If I recall correctly, I was not banned from receiving visitors.”

Eponine snorted but her smile was conspiratorial when she returned his gaze. “That means you will have to be downstairs since this is official.”

“Yes, and I will stay there all day, so you won’t have to bring me up and down the stairs.,” Enjolras said. “Is that a good compromise?”

“You win,” Eponine said. “There’s still some coffee that I s’pose you two should finish, since I’m not having a drop of it. When do you intend to do this?”

“As soon as I can,” Enjolras replied, glancing to the window where he saw the midmorning light rising into that of midday. “In fact it might get them out of isolation sooner, and the Home Office can turn its attention to other pressing matters.”


	45. What We are Capable Of

Much to Eponine’s relief, the prospect of being able to head downstairs after some days was enough to make Enjolras a little more amenable to taking some rest. “I s’pose all you needed was just something to keep your mind occupied,” she remarked on the morning of September 22 as they were both working in their bedroom. She set aside her portable writing slope, which had a translation being left out to dry, and glanced first to where Etienne was quietly poring through a picture book while seated in a large chair, and then to where Enjolras was sitting up in bed and reading a much dog-eared tome. Today he was wearing only his pantaloons, and had also left off the bandages that had bothered him for much of the previous days. “What are you studying now?” she asked, moving to sit on the bed.

“Precedents on asylum, from ancient law,” Enjolras answered, looking up briefly from his reading. “There are not that many of them.”

“Is this for the primer, or for that meeting with Citizen Sardou, whenever that is?”

“You could say both.”

Eponine nodded as she got in between the sheets, snuggling up to him. She smiled on seeing how his shoulders adopted a more relaxed posture even as he shifted a little nearer to her. “I s’pose he will give an answer today to your letter,” she said in a whisper. “He should.”

“That is if he has any jurisdiction over the matter. It may be that the question will be passed between the Prefecture and the Home Office,” Enjolras said more grimly, closing the book. “If so, it may be worthwhile to get both him and the Prefect Delessert in the same room.”

Eponine winced at the mention of the head of the Parisian police, a figure who loomed large in Gavroche’s exploits as a junior detective. “Speaking of the Prefecture or its agents, I’ve asked Gavroche to do something a little more personal.”

“Which is?”

“To case where Citizen Thenardier the elder is staying.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Are you inquiring in his present circumstances to find an impediment to his upcoming marriage?”

“Yes, since Citizenness Gillenormand does not believe anything that Azelma, Cosette and I have to say about the past,” Eponine said, biting her lip at the recollection of her last visit to the Rue des Filles du Calvaire. “I’m certain about one thing; he does not love her. I don’t know if he even loved my own mother either. I’m not even sure how they ended up together since neither of them really said how it happened.”

“For reasons perhaps best left buried,” he pointed out. “Why the sudden interest?”

“I s’pose I want to understand what on earth Citizenness Gillenormand sees, or what’s gotten her so blinded. Maybe my mother was that way with him, once.” She shut her eyes as once again the images of the sordid Gorbeau House rose before her, sending a chill through her bones. “At least your parents love each other still. That’s something I could compare to.”

Enjolras shrugged, only to wince momentarily. “They got along well even while courting, but their match was pre-approved to some extent,” he said after taking a shallow breath. “Strictly speaking their marriage was not formally arranged, but it would not have gone through if there had been disapproval from even one of my grandparents.”

‘ _Which makes us all the more shocking,’_ Eponine thought, feeling heat rise to her cheeks as she looked at Enjolras once again, reveling in the sight of his body, even with the healing bruise on his side. She squeezed his shoulders gently. “I think we’re the luckiest of them all, Antoine,” she whispered, kissing his cheek.

“All the same, I will not brag,” Enjolras said even as he turned to catch her lips in a slow kiss that had her feeling warm all over. As he pulled away first for some much-needed air, a knock sounded on the front door. “Now who could that be?” he asked in a low voice. 

“Maybe it’s the answer you need from Citizen Sardou,” Eponine said, ruffling his hair before getting out of bed. Much to her surprise, when she opened the front door, it was Cosette standing on the stoop. “Cosette? Is something wrong?” she asked, taking in her friend’s pale and wan countenance made even more obvious by her dark blue coat and bonnet.

“Yes, but I’m here to make it right. You’re the only one I can trust to help me, and I’m sorry I have to come at such a bad time,” Cosette said, clasping Eponine’s arm.

“Why, what’s happened?”

“Can you go with me to look at a new house? It’s just near the Quai des Saint Augustines, on this side of the Seine.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped at these words even as she pulled Cosette into the front hall. “Shouldn’t Marius be the one accompanying you?” she asked furtively.

Cosette shook her head. “It’s all we have been fighting about. He wants to stay at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire since he thinks he can really work out matters with his aunt! I’ve already told him it was impossible!”

“Even after both Antoine and Courfeyrac have already had words with him over that?”

“He won’t listen to them or even Bossuet; he’s worried what this would do to our business. That’s why I need to do something soon. Did you know that Aunt intends for the wedding to be right before Christmas?”

Eponine frowned and shook her head. “At least she isn’t getting married during Lent. How would that have looked?”

“Now even _that_ , Grandfather won’t stand for,” Cosette muttered. “But can you come with me, please, if Enjolras is feeling better? How is he anyway?”

“Much better, so much that I can ask him to stay put a little longer today. Give me a minute to see how he is,” Eponine said before turning to go upstairs again. When she returned to the bedroom she found Enjolras reading once more, but this time occasionally talking with Etienne, who had climbed onto the bed to regale his father with his singsong prattle. For a moment Eponine watched both father and son, smiling to herself at this sight even as she crossed the room to them. “Will you be able to manage for a short while? I only have to accompany Cosette to see about a new place to live,” she asked Enjolras.

Enjolras’ eyebrows quirked upwards with surprise. “In what neighborhood?”

“At the Quai des Saint Augustines.”

“Ah, right across from the Palais de Justice.”

“You’re oddly amused by that,” Eponine quipped, seeing the bemused smirk tugging at Enjolras’ lips. “Why?”

“It may be an incentive for Pontmercy to finally leave the Marais,” Enjolras replied.

‘ _For certain he’s had a word with Marius about that,’_ Eponine realized as she found her coat and her hat on a chair. She sighed on seeing Etienne hold out his arms to her, clearly asking to be picked up. “Just for a while, _petite_. Could you watch your Papa for me, just for a while?” she asked as she bounced the toddler slightly, eliciting a giggle from him before she set him back on the bed. “I’m sure you can make sure he’s not going to be up to mischief.” 

“That is much to ask from a two-year-old,” Enjolras pointed out.

“Would you rather have him running about and your chasing him in your state?” Eponine asked, earning her a cross look from her lover. “I s’pose not then?”

“Point taken,” Enjolras muttered before taking Eponine’s hand and kissing her palm. “I’ll see you later, Eponine.”

“I’ll make sure of it,” Eponine said, smiling widely at him before she quickly left the room. She returned downstairs, to where Cosette was now sitting in the drawing room. “By the way, who is watching Lucille and Jean today if you are here?” she asked her friend.

“I dropped them off with Charlesette today; she’s always glad to have them around,” Cosette replied. “I really think that you and Enjolras were lucky to have always had a place of your own. You two bought this house, didn’t you?”

“Yes. It was partly a wedding gift from his parents, but we paid some to have it furnished to our liking,” Eponine explained as they left 9 Rue Guisarde. “I s’pose you’ll be simply renting out this house you’re talking about?”

The baroness nodded. “It’s going to take up much of what I have from the annuity that Papa left me. It’s a good thing that proceeds are coming in from the workshop at Vernon, just to help round out expenses.” Her pretty face turned grim as they reached the omnibus stop. “If it turns out that my sums are wrong, then I will have to find work so I can keep the children.”

‘ _Only now when she hasn’t worked since we were little children together,’_ Eponine thought as they boarded a vehicle bound for the general direction of the Place Saint-Andre. “What sorts of things would you do for work?”

Cosette held up her hands. “I can do needlework. That should get me some way. I know that my mother did so.”

“You have no idea how tiring that is. I used to make a living stitching books and that put some calluses there,” Eponine remarked. “I s’pose you’d do better actually giving lessons to young girls as a tutor of some sort.”

“Me, teaching? That’s rather peculiar.”

“You taught Marie-Fantine well enough without a governess, before she was old enough to go to school. You’re doing the same with Lucille.”

Cosette was quiet for some minutes as she looked out on the traffic plaguing the byways to the Place Saint Andre. “You think I’d be good enough to teach other people’s daughters?” she asked, her voice now suddenly unsure.

Eponine nodded. “And there’s those refuges you run too. That counts for something.”

“I’d have to think about it,” Cosette said with a frown. She took a deep breath as the omnibus came in sight of the Seine. “Here is our stop.”

‘ _Hardly the best place in Paris, but certainly not the worst,’_ Eponine thought, bundling her coat more tightly around herself against the chill from the river. “You’ll have to keep a fire going at all times if you stay here,’ she said as she walked with Cosette along the riverbank.

“Even in summer?”

“You’d be surprised how storms can change things around.”

Cosette smiled bravely as they came into sight of a tall corner house overlooking the landing near the Palais de Justice. “This is it. I hope there is some door to the side on the street, just so we won’t have to walk by the waterfront all the time.”

Eponine bit her lip as she took in the sight of the structure, which seemed rather dingy and faded compared to most of the houses on this part of the Seine. ‘ _Maybe flowers in the windows would make it seem cheerier,’_ she thought as she followed her friend into the dwelling, where a crochety landlady awaited them.

The matron of the house laconically toured them through the place’s three storeys, throwing open doors to show each bare room to Cosette. “Where will you and your husband sleep?” the old woman asked the Baronness pointedly.

“Upstairs,” Cosette said, pointing to the stairs leading to the third storey. “The first floor will be my husband’s office and study, as well as our kitchen and living space. The second storey is purely for our children.”

“Why, you won’t have a drawing room?” Eponine asked incredulously.

“I think, especially without help, I could do without receiving anyone for a while,” Cosette murmured. “We’ll have to economize.”

‘ _I don’t know who will have more work getting used to things: Cosette or her children,’_ Eponine thought, but she bit her lip to keep from voicing this out even as her friend received a proposed bill of rent from the landlady. “How much is she charging you a month?” she asked as soon as they were out of the house and back on the quay.

“It would be indiscreet; she’s actually subletting it,” Cosette said, tucking the bill into a pocket in her skirt. “I thought this would be nice, but you get what I mean that something does not seem right, like I cannot imagine us living there?”

“I s’pose, but you can’t be choosy during these times.”

“I know, but I think I have to look around a little longer for something that would also suit Marius too.”

Eponine sighed deeply as she put her hands in her pockets. “What sort of place would that actually be?” she asked as they now returned to the main road.

“Something warmer, and of course with more space for his books and his study. I’d have to think of that since he’d be receiving clients there too,” Cosette said more hopefully. She clasped Eponine’s arm warmly. “Thank you for coming with me. I know we didn’t find a house, but at least I now know my own mind a little better.”

“I’m sure next time you’ll be signing lease papers,” Eponine concurred. “Do you want to come back with me to the Rue Guisarde for a little while?”

Cosette shook her head. “I have to get back to the Marais before someone asks. It’s foolish that I’m worrying about getting back to where I’ve lived all these years!”

“That’s another reason to move, I s’pose. Please be safe,” Eponine said before they parted ways at the nearest omnibus stop. On the way home she alighted near the Marche Saint-Germain, where a number of stalls had already set up for the day. ‘ _I should be able to find something for lunch, and perhaps dinner as well,’_ she thought as she began perusing some of the fresh vegetables laid out on a nearby table.

“What, you do your own marketing and buying now?” a voice chimed in over her shoulder all of a sudden. “Do you not have servants of your own?”

Eponine’s eyes narrowed as she glanced over her shoulder at Theodule Gillenormand. “A good many of us do not have rich families who would pay for our servants,” she said.

“You still think that I am relying on my aunt’s money for my expenses?” Theodule asked. “You’d be surprised what a man in my position makes.”

“I think nothing when it comes to you, Citizen.” Eponine gritted her teeth as she returned to weighing a carrot in her hands. “Shouldn’t you be at the barracks?”

“Garrison duty requires us to be around, Eponine,” Theodule said. The lancer puffed his chest out for a moment before looking at her keenly. “I heard that Citizen Enjolras was injured in that incident at the Palais de Justice. It’s a shame that you have a husband who is an invalid and unable to provide adequately for you.”

Eponine rolled her eyes before stepping back so that the heel of her boot ground into Theodule’s foot. “You’re in my way, Citizen Gillenormand,” she said, shoving past him on her way to another table full of greens and other vegetables. She did not wait for Theodule to say anything more, nor did she look back at him even as she purchased some eggplants, mushrooms, onions and carrots, and then headed back to the Rue Guisarde.

When Eponine arrived at the front gate, she found an envelope tucked in between the grilles there. ‘ _With the seal of the Home Office of course,’_ she thought with a smile as she took the note and pocketed it before entering the house.


	46. A Question of Displacement

“Are you absolutely sure that you want to do this, Antoine?”

“It’s the only way to save them or have the case turn in their favor.”

Eponine nodded resolutely at these words as she helped Enjolras button up one of his red waistcoats, taking care to avoid the bruise on his side. “If it wasn’t for the urgency, I’d _insist_ you leave this to another day,” she said in an undertone as she smoothed down her own blue dress. “Then again you’re so stubborn with proving the point that you’ll recover quickly.”

“It is more than a point, it is a necessity,” Enjolras said, reaching for a clean cravat that Eponine had set aside on the bedside table. “A week in detention and five days under suspicion is a travesty, no matter the nationality.”

“If everyone thought the way you did, there would not be cases languishing in the courts----” Eponine began even as the patter of feet sounded out in the hall. “I s’pose I should see what that is about before I help you get downstairs. Don’t do anything silly!” she admonished before quickly leaving their room.

Enjolras smiled to himself at this even as he tied his cravat loosely. After several days of being in relative dishabille, putting on proper clothes again even just to receive a guest in his own home was an odd sort of relief. He picked up one of his coats, which had been left on a chair, before heading out of the room. “What is this about?” he asked, seeing Eponine and Neville in some discussion just a few paces away.

Neville was red in the face as he turned to look at Enjolras. “I was suggesting to Ponine that she can have some of my wages, to help here a little till you can get back to work,” he mumbled.

“And I was saying there’s no need for that,” Eponine said, rolling her eyes. “What you make at the laboratory ought to be for yourself and your little expenses, and if you like, helping out Ariadne a little. Your father and I already have everything else covered,” she told Neville.

“A lawyer’s work isn’t only in the trial court; there’s also the primer I am working on and other cases that are undergoing preliminary proceedings,” Enjolras informed the young man. “There is no cause for you to worry.”

Neville nodded slowly. “It was just a thought, Father.”

“One that is much appreciated, nevertheless.” Enjolras looked knowingly at Eponine after Neville headed downstairs. “That sounded familiar.”

Eponine laughed and shook her head. “Neville is a better one than I was at that same age. Don’t you remember how impossible I was then?”

“Yes, but I also have seen how well you’ve taught the boys in the years that followed,” Enjolras said, taking Eponine’s hand to kiss her knuckles.

Eponine’s cheeks reddened even as she smiled. “You forget how a lot of that was possible because you were around,” she whispered in his ear. “Now let’s go downstairs?”

Enjolras nodded, shifting to let Eponine stand on his right so she could help him down the stairway. Much to his relief the shooting pain from his broken rib had ebbed into a more manageable ache, albeit one that had a tendency to linger. Nevertheless, he still was able to smile at Neville, Jacques, Laure, Julien and Etienne all cheering when they saw him enter the dining room. “You need to finish your breakfast, or you’ll all be late for school,” he said as he finally sat down.

Laure grinned toothily. “I’ll just tell the teacher that I was waiting for my Papa to get better.”

“Now that is _not_ an acceptable excuse,” Enjolras pointed out.

Julien merely shrugged. “I wish I was as small as Tienne again so I could draw all day and _not_ go to school.”

“Yes, but every summer you get bored and suddenly want to be in school,” Jacques drawled, earning an indignant look from the smaller boy. “Besides someone has to look out for him when _he_ gets to school.”

“But that’s why you’re there!”

“I will be in university just like Neville by the time that happens.”

Julien sighed deeply. “So now Laure will have to watch me and Tienne?”

“Not forever! When I get as big as Jacques and Neville, I’m going to university too!” Laure said, wiping crumbs from her mouth.

“Girls don’t go to university. Not here, not in England, not anywhere,” Neville pointed out.

Laure pouted and shook her head. “Papa, I _can_ go when I’m older? Please?” she asked Enjolras. “You always say I’m smart!”

‘ _One reason that we have to do what we do,’_ Enjolras thought, meeting Eponine’s eyes for a moment before he looked at their daughter. “Things are changing fast, _petite_. Maybe when you’re older that will be possible.”

Laure frowned. “Then I’ll be the first, you’ll see!”

“You may very well be,” Eponine said, reaching out to help Laure retie her blue hair ribbon. Her eyes were pensive as she sipped her tea as soon as all the youngsters quit the dining room. “I sometimes worry that we are promising her too much,” she said as she set down her drink. “It’s taken years for people to even accept the idea of girls staying in school beyond fourteen or fifteen years old or taking the _bac_ exam to finish. What more about having an education the same as you and many gentlemen have had?” 

“That never stopped you and many of the other ladies,” Enjolras reminded her.

“I s’pose, but I hope that it will actually happen by the time Laure is old enough,” Eponine said wistfully. “In the meantime, I think I should ask Victoria Calamy if she’s willing to have Ariadne learn a thing or two from a tutor or drawing master. I’m not sure she’s ever had a proper education.”

“What gave you that impression?”

“Do you think Dolores Wright would have seen to it?”

The mention of this disgraced matron had Enjolras shaking his head before he took a bite of bread. “Before that though, we have to deal with Citizen Sardou. The matter of asylum will set a precedent not only for our Spanish friends, but possibly even for Citizenness Wright the younger or any others who may be in her position.”

“I hope that the Home Office takes a sensible view of it. If you ask me, a girl cannot be blamed for hiding here in Paris to avoid being married off so horribly in England or elsewhere,” Eponine said, looking towards the sound of the children shutting the front door as they left for the school day. She reached for Enjolras’ hand to squeeze his fingers. “Will you be fine on your own?”

“I’ll keep the living room door open if you are to be in the study,” Enjolras replied. A quick glance at his watch showed that he had just over an hour to finish breakfast and prepare for this meeting he had arranged. After hastily finishing some bread and coffee, he made his way to the living room to read some notes while waiting. All the while he was vaguely aware of Eponine singing to herself as she worked in the study while Etienne ran in and out of the rooms.

Just before he could be thoroughly immersed in his reading, he heard a knock on the front door followed by the sound of Eponine opening it. Enjolras slowly got to his feet and nodded to the man who had just entered the house. “Thank you for coming, Citizen Sardou.”

“It is good to see you well, Citizen Enjolras,” Sardou said, doffing his hat. Like before, he was in a clean but mended morning coat, but had deigned to polish his shoes. “From all accounts, it appeared you would be abed for a while.”

“I do not receive guests in my bedchamber,” Enjolras deadpanned, motioning for Sardou to take a seat. “Rather, the pleasure is mine to receive you.”

“I had hoped that an invitation to one of the most politically important houses in Paris would be at a better time,” Sardou replied. His eyes were humorless however as he looked at Enjolras. “It is evident that you have a personal stake in this matter, that is to at least save the de Polignacs. Do not delude yourself into thinking you are the only one who cares. I knew young Citizen de Polignac’s father, that is true, but I must remain impartial.”

“Indeed. But do you have evidence that links him or his retinue materially to what happened outside the Palais de Justice?” Enjolras asked.

“At this point, none. You must understand that it is my prerogative to protect our borders and our national security.”

“As well as to set a precedent that is both just and compassionate.”

Sardou sighed deeply. “The only reason I accepted your invitation is so you can clear up a contradiction for me, namely that of Citizen du Bellay. From what I understand he is a moderate, barely so. Yet he now has the ear of the liberal general?”

“Whether he truly has the ear of Espartero is uncertain, but what I am certain of is that he had the ear of the late Citizen D’Aramitz,” Enjolras said sternly. “When I met Citizen du Bellay last May, he did not seem inclined to deal directly with General Espartero. You would say he was disdainful of the man. A number of things have changed materially since our last encounter, which was on the day before my departure from Madrid.”

The diplomat silently regarded Enjolras for a few moments, not even quite noticing when Eponine stole into the room to set down some coffee and bread on a nearby table. “Tell me more about what you spoke of, on that day,” he said to Enjolras.

“I was with Citizen de Polignac. I had intended to have Citizen du Bellay enlighten us on what part he had to play in that accident that injured Citizen Belmont, since I had personally seen a pay-off happening at Citizen du Bellay’s yard,” Enjolras explained.

“A pay-off?”

“A hired assassin. Citizen Belmont was not the primary target.”

“Ah yes, the Catalonian. God rest him,” Sardou said, crossing himself. “Were you then able to get Citizen du Bellay to confess to the fact?”

“Not categorically. We were able to confirm that he had long been in correspondence with Citizen D’Aramitz, and had strong objections to Citizen Belmont’s being the envoy at that time,” Enjolras continued. “Citizen Belmont told me in a letter some weeks later that Citizen de Polignac made a second, more successful attempt some time later, and that General Espartero launched an investigation into the incident.”

“Until such time that they fell out of favor with the court,” Sardou finished. “Would you have any idea what might have caused it?”

Enjolras paused, if only to recall the night he had spoken with the Spanish regent. “General Espartero had expressed some concern that agents from France would foment dissent in the northern territories of Spain—which is the very thing that he has accused the de Polignacs and their friends of doing,” he said. “You would find that their sympathies are Castillan and neither Catalonian nor Basque.”

“Apart from familial ties, especially on the young Citizenness de Polignac’s part, there is little to link them to the current situation in Barcelona,” Sardou said. “If what you say is true, then not only are the de Polignacs most likely innocent, but also this Citizen du Bellay is a pawn in Citizen D’Aramitz’s plan----which was only a plan among many plans.”

‘ _Of course, Citizen Sardou will not speak ill of the dead,’_ Enjolras thought even as he picked up a cup of coffee and took a sip. “What then will be your decision about refugees as a whole, not just this particular group?”

“I will have to be stringent; we cannot afford a repeat in Marseille or any other city of what happened here this week,” Sardou answered sternly. “Yes, you are right, there is a precedent for asylum. I have read some of the tracts you have there,” he added, indicating the notes that Enjolras had with him.

“Those should be enough to convince you.”

“Succoring one or two is nothing. Have you considered this would be in the tens, maybe even the hundreds, if the situation in Spain deteriorates further?”

“They will come across the border, legally or not,” Enjolras argued. “What lies in our power is to provide them a dignified situation or refuge till either they can return home or make passage to whatever clime will better suit them.”

“More often than not, such persons will elect to remain in France,” Sardou muttered, now finally finding his own cup of coffee. “This would be a drain on our national coffers.”

“Unless they are granted permits to work and reside in France, and then eventually be accorded the rights, privileges and duties of a citizen or citizenness,” Enjolras said. “That choice, of course, is purely elective.”

“I find it inconceivable that anyone would choose to revoke the citizenship of one’s birth,” Sardou mused. “Yet people have their reasons. I trust that you will cover this matter in that primer you have taken on?”

“It will be a chapter on its own.”

“Good.” 

At that moment a knock sounded on the door, prompting Enjolras to set down his drink. Before he could stand up, Eponine was already in the front hall. “Gavroche! It’s early for you to be coming here,” she greeted.

The detective grinned and made a jovial salute as he entered the house. “I have the answer to your letter, Ponine,” he said, bringing out a paper. “It looks like the old innkeeper has found himself the grandest of lodgings here in Paris!”


	47. The Art of the Counterfeit

It had been some time since Eponine had any reason to visit the Rue d’Aligre, which was one of the streets whose main claim to fame was its proximity to the end of the Champs Elysee. “Most of the grand folk who lodge—not live---here are not the sort to ask for translations,” she said to Azelma the next day as they were making their way down this road in a fiacre in the middle of the morning.

“But they are the sort to live out of grand hotels,” Azelma pointed out. “Are you sure that the address is exactly the same one he had before, 13 Rue d’Aligre?”

Eponine nodded by way of reply. ‘ _It was already a lodging house when Antoine and I went to ask Citizen Thenardier’s permission all those years ago,’_ she thought even as the carriage came to a stop. Her eyes widened at the sight of a tall white building half-concealed by a tall iron fence covered with climbing roses. The fence grilles were interspersed with marble columns topped with figures of angels and lions. “This isn’t a hotel, it’s a mansion!” she whispered. 

Azelma frowned as she looked up and down. “It looked better before, didn’t it?”

“Much better; I s’pose this place has a new owner with certain tastes,” Eponine replied as they approached the gate. Azelma only had to nod to the porter, who then conducted them as far as the hotel’s grand foyer. This capacious room was dominated by a quartet of fountains, each with a sculpture representing a season of the year. The sunbeams streaming through the large arched windows shimmered on the water trickling from the fountains, throwing diamonds of light onto the high ceiling and the polished grey marble floor. “I’ve seen some grand houses in England and Italy, but nothing like this,” Eponine whispered as she looked around.

“Almost as if the Trevi Fountain was delicately fragmented to fit in here,” Jean Prouvaire said by way of greeting as he emerged from behind a fountain depicting Summer in the form of a woman lounging against a column, draped with leaves that also crowned her hair. The poet slipped an arm around Azelma’s waist before smiling at Eponine. “He left about an hour ago, while Grantaire and I were setting everything up for the performance.”

“I thought our pretense for being here was to grant an exclusive interview, dear brother?” Eponine quipped.

“If we are to rent a room at this hotel, we may as well make the best stage of it,” Prouvaire explained with a grin. “In a few minutes, the rest of our company will be here to give Capital R an exclusive preview of our show next month. You should watch too!”

“I prefer to be surprised with the full show, and I will definitely watch with Antoine when he is better,” Eponine answered. “Before you ask, he’s resting at home and he’s rather sorry that he couldn’t join us. You know how he is with these things. Combeferre will drop by later, and besides Neville and Jacques are at home watching him. Neville has even asked Ariadne to spend the day over at the Rue Guisarde,” she added.

Azelma smiled knowingly. “I see someone has found a future daughter-in-law already?”

“Don’t give Neville ideas just yet! Antoine and I have agreed at the very least that he should finish his studies at the Sorbonne before he thinks of that sort of thing,” Eponine pointed out as they headed up to the second floor. At the end of a carpeted corridor were double doors that opened onto an airy suite. Most of the furniture had been pushed to the sides of this space to stand alongside racks of brightly embroidered and bejeweled costumes, while the floor was divided by several wooden panels. Some of these were covered with the same canvases that Azelma had been working on for the past few weeks. Several props such as a wooden cart and a miniature barge also stood in the middle of the room.

Eponine burst out laughing on seeing Grantaire lounging on a chaise, idly feeding himself with a bunch of grapes. “I do hope those were not to be used in the play!”

“There is more where they came from,” Grantaire said, gesturing to a glass bowl overflowing with various fruits in season. “How is Paris’ finest prosecutor doing abed?”

“He’s doing fine, but don’t let him hear that.”

“I see he is modest as ever. Now will you be our captive audience?”

“As soon as I have the evidence in hand first, or whatever we can find,” Eponine replied, glancing at her watch. “We might not have much time, so I s’pose we should start searching now.”

Azelma nodded grimly. “Did Gavroche say which room to look in?”

“Room number 4,” Eponine said. She looked anxiously at Prouvaire and Grantaire. “How will you let us know if you see him or anyone coming?”

“You’ll hear someone making a ruckus or singing _Ca Ira,”_ Prouvaire said. He turned at the sound of knocking, then went to the door to admit a dozen performers all still dressed in their morning clothes. “Welcome, friends!” he said gallantly.

Azelma broke away from greeting these newcomers just to grab her sister’s arm. “Jehan will keep them busy, and they shouldn’t need me around unless it’s to make an adjustment,” she said as they stole out of the room.

The two women tiptoed down the corridor towards the room with a door marked with the number ‘4’ in bronze. Before Eponine could pull a hairpin out from her updo, she saw Azelma bring a skeleton key out of a purse. “Where did you get that?” she asked.

“After what Father did at your house, I thought of getting one of these since Maximillien has a way of locking himself by accident every place,” Azelma explained. “I hope he doesn’t do that today while he is at your house, or I would definitely pity my brother for having to extricate him.”

Eponine shook her head. “I trust that Neville, Jacques, and even Ariadne will do what they can so that Antoine does not have to get anyone out of trouble,” she said as she stepped back to let Azelma get to work with the heavy iron key. ‘ _That is of course unless they aren’t starting something themselves,’_ she thought even as the lock gave way with a harsh clatter. 

Azelma waved a hand in front of her nose as the air was filled with a whiff of sandalwood mingled with cinnamon and a hint of musk. “Some _eau de toilette_ he has!” she muttered, holding back a cough as she pushed the door open. She blinked as she tried to adjust to the light filtering in through the suite’s sheer curtains. “It’s quite cluttered in here.”

“What does he do, receive the entire hotel?” Eponine wondered aloud as she now stepped into the room, which she saw to be filled with velvet couches, plush chairs, and upholstered stools. Every other fixture here was covered with gilt, from the door handles as well as the large three leaved mirror on the far end of this chamber. “Are all of the rooms here furnished like this?”

“Not the one we rented out,” Azelma said, gesturing with her thumb to the door. She balled up her purple skirt in her hands as she looked around the room. “There’s got to be someplace where he keeps his valuables. Maybe that will give us a clue what he’s using to pay for all of this.”

‘ _It’s right here,’_ Eponine realized as she now bent to examine a brocade covered armchair. At first glance this seat seemed to be simply old and weather-beaten, but on closer inspection she now saw the crooked way the arms were nailed to the rest of the frame, the odd yellow spots marring the brocade seat, and the chipped finish all over the woodwork. Under one of the chair’s arms she caught sight of this label written on coarse paper: ‘ _A wedding gift in 1530 to the Duchess of Castile.’_ She bit her lip as she beckoned for Azelma to also take a look. “Wouldn’t you imagine this!” she whispered.

Azelma’s dark eyebrows shot up. “What, he’s dealing now in antiques?”

Eponine shook her head as she straightened up. “I’ve been around many pretty old things, like those in Monique and Louis’ house in Provence. They don’t look this badly kept. Monique even told me once that real antiques are more likely, properly cared for, like the way she handles all the old books of their library or her jewels.”

Azelma frowned as she examined the chair. “I would have done this better. When we try to make things look old for the stage, we put in a lot of work. I put all the wood parts near a fire so they can take the color of smoke. The carpenters smooth out the edges with glass paper or even shark skin, and we use watered down inks and vinegars to stain everything.” She ran a hand over a wobbly join. “This one looks as if someone just slapped all the wood together and put some cheap paint on it all. I’m sure I could rub the brass off with my thumb too.”

Eponine burst out laughing even as she went to take a look at a footstool, which was supposed to have been saved from a castle in Prussia. “What fine fools would buy these?” she giggled before checking a table with a label declaring its purported origins from a Turkish palace. After her sister’s words, all that Eponine could see were the flaws in every piece of furniture, such that she was now terrified to take a seat or rest a hand on anything. “It’s possible these hardly look like any actual furnishings from those parts.”

“Yes, but is anyone wise enough to know it---except maybe an actual Orientalist? You know how expensive everything gets the moment it looks like it is past 1789.” Azelma’s avid dark eyes trained on a leatherbound chest on a table. “There, that is the answer we are looking for.”

“That key of yours though is too big,” Eponine said, seeing now the fine lock that held this case shut. She pulled a pin out of her tresses and stuck it into the keyhole, jiggling and turning it till she heard that all too satisfying click of the pins in the lock giving. She carefully pulled the lock away and lifted the cover away with both hands, thankful now that her gloves would help ensure that she would not leave any marks. Her eyes widened as she found herself looking down at a tray loaded with sparkling necklaces and brooches. “Where did he get all of these?”

“Maybe from the same place he got the furniture,” Azelma quipped. “Can I have a look at those for a while?”

‘ _Still a bit of a magpie after all these years,’_ Eponine thought as she carefully lifted out a string of clear beads with a shimmering blue pendant in the middle. Even though the necklace caught the light very well, casting pinpoints of sunshine onto the wall, there was something about it that had the woman rather unnerved. “I’ve never seen diamonds like these, and I s’pose they aren’t actually so. Are they crystal?” she wondered.

Azelma shook her head. “Glass is more like it.” She took the jewel from her sister’s hands and weighed it carefully between her fingers. “It’s far too light, and doesn’t quite throw the light the way an actual gem would.”

“How would you know?” Eponine asked.

“Jehan gave me actual diamonds, when we were five years married,” Azelma said with a small, secretive smile. “I don’t wear them often, only for him.”

“And if these were actual gems, they wouldn’t be in plain sight but in an actual safe,” Eponine concurred, taking the necklace back to arrange it within the jewel box just the way she’d found it. As she did so she caught a glimpse of the more colorful brooches and necklaces underneath, most of them consisting of glass set within burnished filigree. “These look far too fierce for high society.”

“For the opera more like—” Azelma began, only to pale as she looked around. “It’s Capital R…” she whispered.

It was only then that Eponine heard Grantaire’s rich voice singing these words, _“Ah! It'll be fine! It'll be fine, It'll be fine, aristocrats to the lamp-post!”_ She swiftly slammed the case shut and replaced the lock, even as Azelma now rushed to the door. “Is it?”

“The terrace on this side, it’s our only chance!” Azelma hissed, now grabbing her sister to half-drag her out of the room. “Come on, before we’re seen!”

Eponine only had time to catch sight of a pair of actors as well as Grantaire now working to block Thenardier’s view of the hallway, all the while singing at the top of their lungs. She dashed to the small balcony her sister had pointed out, taking care to close the door behind them as softly as she could manage in their haste. “I s’pose the door will lock itself,” she whispered furtively.

“If he does find the door unlocked or something not to his liking, he’ll more likely blame a chambermaid or a porter,” Azelma muttered. “It’s probably happened before.”

“I s’pose, but it’s still something to be sorry for,” Eponine said. She risked a glance through the keyhole to see Thenardier cursing as he put his own passkey into the lock of the door of his room. “Do you think it’s possible we broke it?”

“Nothing is quite the same after you put a skeleton key in it, I’m afraid,” Azelma remarked. She breathed a sigh of relief when Thenardier let himself into his lodgings. “Safe!”

“For now. I wonder what’s got him hurrying back so early,” Eponine said, now cautiously opening the door to let them back into the hallway, towards the clamor and singing of the rehearsal now in full swing. Before she and Azelma could step into the room, Eponine hung back in the doorway. “I shan’t, not for now. I’d like to see it with Antoine and the boys when it’s all done,” she said to her sister. 

“That will be in some weeks still!” Azelma exclaimed.

“I know, but it’s always been special for us to be there at the opening night and have _everything_ be a surprise,” Eponine said. “Besides I think I might be in the way, and I have to make sure that Antoine doesn’t over-exert himself even at home.”

“I would have to say that if he is being stubborn, then that’s a sign of him improving,” Azelma said, rolling her eyes knowingly. “What do you want to do about what we learned today?”

“I s’pose we should find out who is fool enough to buy all his wares.”

“That might be all of Paris. It would be easier to find out who is making them.”

Eponine nodded solemnly. “You do that, Zelma. You are an artist and you know people who make things. You could find out that sort of thing.”

“While you move in all sorts of circles, so I think you’ll have an easier time finding out who his buyers are.” Azelma hugged her sister tightly. “Be careful, Ponine. I don’t know what you and Gavroche have planned, but I do hope it can save Cosette and her family.”

“So do I, and I hope we can manage it in time,” Eponine said ruefully. “Please thank Prouvaire and Capital R for me. I promise we’ll be there on opening night,” she added before rushing down the stairs. She hurried outside and onto the Rue D’Aligre, from there walking to the Cours la Reine and the Pont des Invalides, where she then crossed back to the neighborhood of the Champ de Mars and the omnibus stop.

By the time she arrived back at the Rue Guisarde, it was already the hour for lunch. As she entered the yard she paused at the smell of sausages in the air. “Has one of the boys attempted to cook lunch?” she wondered aloud as she entered the house. Much to her surprise, she saw Ariadne emerge from the kitchen. “You? But you’re a guest!” she exclaimed.

“Who else was going to do it?” Ariadne said good naturedly. Somehow the girl had retrieved an old apron, simply to tie it over a dress that Eponine recognized as once having belonged to Victoria. “Citizen Enjolras is still resting, Jacques says he worries about burning down the house, and Neville is…well reading. Of course, everyone else is too young to be using the stove. I have sausages and mashed potatoes ready for everyone, and the little ones are eating.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that you’re company and shouldn’t have to lift a finger. Still, thank you for helping out,” Eponine said, holding out her hands to take the apron from Ariadne. She peered into the study where she saw Neville and Jacques debating over a book. “For shame, you two! You _know_ that Ariadne is company, why did you have her do all the work?” she seethed.

“She said she’d come here to help, isn’t that why she’s here?” Jacques asked.

“Helping is not the same as having to do everything around the house, or at least keeping you fed. I s’pose that she was the one who had to go to the market for the food,” Eponine said. Her eyes narrowed at Neville, who was ducking his head shame-facedly. “You should know better.”

“She offered, so was I going to say ‘no’?” Neville asked.

“She was being polite, and it shouldn’t have come to that,” Eponine pointed out before turning on her heel to head to the kitchen, where Laure, Julien and Etienne were eating with Ariadne. After greeting them she put together a plate of sausages and potatoes, which she brought directly upstairs.

She found Enjolras sitting up in bed, deeply absorbed with some writing. At the sound of her footsteps he looked up from his work and smiled. “I take that your errand went well?”

“I’ve learned about some things, and now I have to ask about a few more,” Eponine said, tossing her hat and shawl aside before going to sit next to him. “I s’pose though you need to have a word with the boys, since you can guess they did not cook this themselves.”

“I will, if you let me downstairs again later,” Enjolras deadpanned.

Eponine sighed knowingly as she set the plate on his lap and squeezed his hand. “You’re really so intent on getting what you want.”

“I have my ways.”

“I know you do, Antoine. Of course you do.”


	48. Converging Plots

It took several more days for Enjolras to persuade Eponine that he could be safely brought downstairs to spend the day without any incident. “A little activity will tip the balance towards recovery and away from being a laggard,” he remarked under his breath as he dipped his pen in an inkwell he had brought next to the chaise in their study, where he was now working once again on the primer. It was after midday of the 30th of September. “At this rate, I should be recovered _before_ the end of October.”

“That is if you do not push yourself too much,” Eponine pointed out, looking up from her latest translation just to glance over her shoulder at him. “Combeferre warned you about this sort of thing when he was over here last week.”

“As you can see, I am complying with doctor’s orders this time,” Enjolras pointed out as he adjusted his position on the chaise just to ease up on the ache in his side. Before he could write again, he heard the study door open. “Etienne, what is it?”

“It’s not Tienne, it’s me,” Neville greeted. “One of my classes got cancelled for the day and the laboratory is also closed, so today is a half holiday.” 

“Instead of going with friends or to your work, or even to Ariadne?” Eponine asked, now getting up from her desk. “Are you well?”

“Yes, but it is about Ariadne that I came home to ask about,” Neville said, doffing his hat before looking at Enjolras. “Father, why were you so cross with me and Jacques last weekend, when it was Ariadne who offered to do the cooking? Shouldn’t it be good that she wanted to help?”

Enjolras sighed deeply before nodding knowingly to Eponine, who bit her lip and left the room, touching his shoulder on the way out. He motioned for Neville to take a seat near the chaise, nodding when the young man obliged. “I believe I made it clear to you then, that one must extend the utmost courtesy to guests. Oftentimes when they offer to take on some of the work, it is also out of politeness---even an extreme of it,” he said.

“You and Eponine oblige when it is Azelma and Jehan here, or even some of the others,” Neville said defensively, putting his hands in his lap.

“Because they are family or considered as such, and oftentimes we have arranged beforehand just how to help out each other,” Enjolras replied. “The case of Citizenness Wright is rather different.”

Neville flushed deeply to the tips of his ears. “Ponine cooks for you all of the time, and she did so back when we were all still neighbors.”

“If you recall I did a fair share of the cooking, as well as the cleaning and house repairs,” Enjolras pointed out. “As for our situation presently, we have our own ways of dividing it. What one is unable to do, be it due to sickness or simply lacking time, the other must pick up or make one’s self capable of doing so.”

“Are you saying that I should have done the cooking, or helped Ariadne in the kitchen?” Neville asked incredulously.

“Would it have been beneath you to do so?”

“But I hardly know anything in the kitchen!”

“Then I suggest you learn a little,” Enjolras deadpanned. “Every man and woman must become useful in _both_ work and home, and if that entails taking some time learning to feed one’s self, then so be it. You may as well begin tonight.”

“Father!”

“Eponine will need help cooking. I _strongly_ suggest then that you ask her immediately what has to be done, since you seem to have the rest of the afternoon at liberty.”

Neville opened and shut his mouth for a few moments with astonishment before pushing back his chair and quitting the study. It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face at this, even as he now returned his attention to the still unfinished chapter on his lap. After a few more minutes of writing, he heard the study door open once again. “It had to be said, Eponine,” he said.

“Whatever it was, it now has Neville bemoaning the afternoon as if some calamity has happened to him!” Eponine replied, now sitting next to him. “What did you speak with him about?”

“The discourtesy it was to send young Citizenness Wright into the kitchen last week.”

“And you think it will be resolved by having him learn to cook?”

Enjolras nodded. “It would help him understand how much work actually goes into it, and teach him something practical. What did you have in mind for dinner?”

Eponine looked at him thoughtfully for a moment before her face brightened with understanding. “Since I am to have help, then we shall have a good roasted meat and potatoes. And of course, we shall have some soup, though I s’pose I should keep it light since the rest of the meal is so rich.” She laughed conspiratorially before kissing him. “Now that should get you up on your feet even if it isn’t a _cassoulet_.”

The recollection of this recent culinary venture had Enjolras smirking knowingly before he returned her kiss, gently at first then with as much vigor as his condition would allow. As he pulled away, he ran a finger over Eponine’s now very flushed cheeks. “Thank you.”

Eponine grinned widely as she got to her feet and ruffled his hair. “I’ll see you later, Antoine,” she said before quitting the study.

Enjolras smiled to himself as he continued his writing, finding himself soon engrossed with some clauses concerning other special circumstances warranting asylum. Now and then he heard footsteps and the murmur of conversation throughout the house, occasionally interspersed with Etienne’s childish shrieks of laughter as he tried to amuse either Eponine or Neville. At length he caught a whiff of the aroma of veal being seared with onions, carrots and spices, just a few moments before a knock sounded on the front door. A quick glance at his watch told him it was just past two in the afternoon, far too early for the other youngsters to be home. ‘ _Then it’s company,’_ he thought as he set aside his writing to dry, then sat up to smoothen out his clothing.

“It looks as if you have redefined the idea of bed rest,” Combeferre said dryly by way of greeting from the study doorway. He smiled broadly as he looked his friend over. “It’s good to see you much better, Enjolras.”

“Do come in, Combeferre,” Enjolras said, motioning to the doctor. “Is there some half holiday at the Sorbonne today? Neville also has been excused from his classes and work.”

“Not exactly; it just so happened that I do not have lectures or clinic today, which has allowed me to make an important visit,” Combeferre replied, stepping back to admit another man who had been standing out in the hallway.

Enjolras’ eyes widened as he realized who was with Combeferre. “It is good to see you have regained your liberty, Citizen de Polignac,” he greeted.

“Mainly owing to your effort, my friend,” de Polignac said, making a deep bow. He chuckled at a surprised shriek from the general direction of the kitchen. “My wife has also come with a pot of hot chocolate, for your wife.”

“Which I am sure is being well-received,” Enjolras deadpanned. “How did the investigation proceed then?”

“That Citizen Sardou mainly had to prove that we were not involved in any way with that explosion outside the Palais de Justice,” de Polignac said. “I was worried I would not see you up and about, or even at all, after we got news of it.”

“Why so?”

“Word reached us that you were mortally injured, almost with a foot in the grave.”

Enjolras shook his head, even as he felt a frisson of discomfiture at this intelligence. “Contrary to those exaggerations, I am far from dead. A broken rib is not mortal,” he said.

“Oh, is that all it was?” de Polignac asked astonishedly.

“Fortunately, it is all that there was, and no other injury to speak of,” Combeferre said sagely, but his expression soon turned grave as he brought a folded paper out of his waistcoat pocket. “These patients were all admitted at the Necker these past few days. There is likely to be more of them,” he said in an undertone.

Enjolras unfolded the paper to find a manifest of Spanish names. “Does Citizen Sardou know about them?” he asked.

Combeferre shook his head. “They fear that the mere knowledge of their presence would provoke some hostility on the part of the Home Office. This matter has to be handled delicately.”

De Polignac cleared his throat. “Would it be too much to ask Citizen Sardou to extend his compassion further, especially now that my party is no longer a trouble to him?”

“The time for favors and allowances is long past; what we need now is a policy that is more encompassing,” Enjolras said, indicating the chapter he was still writing. He looked to where Eponine was now entering the study, with Clarita de Polignac and little Etienne in tow. “Is everything well?”

“Oh, very well; do you want some of this?” Eponine asked, indicating the pot of hot chocolate that Clarita carried. “You should try some of this, Antoine. It’s just like back in Italy!”

“It’s the best we could do here in Paris; I am sure you remember with what exquisiteness I made my chocolate back in Madrid,” Clarita said proudly as she poured a cup for Enjolras.

Enjolras merely nodded before taking a sip of the thick, bittersweet liquid. “I understand that you ladies have plans of your own?” he asked, eyeing his own wife.

“I mean to introduce them to the _Societe_ here,” Eponine said. “Though bringing everyone to the big meeting might be somewhat unmanageable, so I s’pose it would be better to simply invite a few of the ladies like Claudine, Chetta, Cosette, Zelma, and of course Simone with the other officers. Charlesette too since she’s our best from the south.”

“That would be wise,” Enjolras concurred. “On the other hand, I will need to invite Citizen Sardou here again, to speak with Combeferre, de Polignac, and a number of others.”

“It would be a great deal of fun to have it all on the same day then,” Eponine suggested. “We ladies have the living room, and you gentlemen retire to the study!”

The two de Polignacs and Combeferre burst out laughing. “Isn’t that rather a reversal of things, _Se_ _ñ_ _ora_?” Clarita asked.

“We are not strict when it comes to the use of the rooms, at least on the ground floor,” Enjolras explained. “This house has seen its fair share of gatherings.”

“Then it is true what they say, that to talk politics one must go here, and to talk arts one must call on the Prouvaires,” de Polignac marveled. “When do you intend to have this meeting?”

“As soon as we can secure a schedule from Citizen Sardou,” Enjolras said, now fetching a fresh piece of paper. He brought out the manifest that Combeferre had handed to him and smoothed it out. “Do these ladies and gentlemen have any companions or friends with them?”

“A few. I shall have to find that out,” Combeferre said. “What do you have planned?”

Enjolras glanced at Eponine, who was smiling bemusedly over her second cup of hot chocolate. “As it would appear, something above afternoon tea and a step below a dinner party.”


	49. Matters Requiring Cooperation

“Let me make sure I heard you right, Eponine. You want to know who would be foolish enough to buy imitation jet here in Paris?”

“I s’pose, if that is how you put it, yes.”

Victoria burst out laughing as she set down her cup of tea. “Then try _all_ of this city, my dear! Why this sudden interest in mourning jewelry?”

“It’s not the jewels I am interested in, it’s the middleman,” Eponine pointed out. She glanced towards the other end of the Calamys’ drawing room in their apartment near the Invalides before speaking again. Ever since her last visit to this room, the place had begun to resemble the chambers in the Calamys’ old house in Piccadilly, at least in terms of the acquisition of curios and cluttered furniture. “That middleman is my father.”

“Ah yes, that fellow,” Victoria said with barely masked distaste. “Have you heard from him since that incident?”

“Thankfully not a single word in a whole fortnight and more,” Eponine said before taking a sip of her own drink. It was already the fourth of October, and the chill autumn winds had done their part in banishing some of the sting of that embarrassing testimonial dinner. “I had a look in his jewel box, meaning his wares, and I am sure that I saw some mourning jewelry. I am sure it is not Whitby jet. The supply is too dear, from what I learned during my time in London.”

“That is correct, which is why here in Paris you have all these imitations like French glass or even those beads that your friends the Pontmercys have resurrected in Vernon,” Victoria said. “You do not mean to say he’s found something worse?”

“Little better than paste,” Eponine whispered. “We don’t do mourning jewelry so well or often here in France, not the way you English do!”

“For that sort of quality, you are better off checking the quarters near the embassy. You may as well ask the likes of Dolores Wright, but for as long as her daughter is my ward, that woman will not darken my threshold,” Victoria replied, her dark eyes flashing. “Speaking of Ariadne, that girl is shaping up rather nicely. I’m hiring tutors for her so she can have something more than her mother’s silly habits in her head.”

“That is good, though I thought you’d educate her yourself?” Eponine asked.

Victoria shook her head. “I was given an education that was but a shadow of what the Admiral received during our days at sea together. For all my lack of accomplishments, I probably could not have married anyone else. If Ariadne is to be a match for your boy, I should do better by her than what my own parents did for me.”

‘ _Everyone seems to think that Neville and Ariadne are serious,’_ Eponine thought with a slight smile before she sipped her tea again. “I also have another plan afoot, which is a meeting of some sorts this Friday. It is, I s’pose, the closest Spanish equivalent to your English high tea.”

“You mean a _merienda cena,”_ Victoria pointed out. “What on earth has gotten you roped into hosting such a thing?”

“Antoine has some matters to iron out between our Home Office and some friends from Spain. I also do need to play host to some ladies there, if only to make up for having been called away so suddenly during my visit to their lodgings,” Eponine explained. “Why, you and the Admiral should join us!”

“I regret that I must refuse this invitation, just this once, Eponine.”

“Oh! You have another urgent matter?”

The older woman frowned as she picked up her still warm cup of tea. “It is likely, almost sure, that the Admiral and I would be the only Anglicans in a roomful of Catholics of the hardened sort. I am sure that is not a variable you wish to introduce into your own…negotiations, which would mean I would be completely in the way. I’ve had more than my fill of the hypocrisy and _ridiculousness_ of the Spanish elite; behind all that piety and austerity are indulgences and appetites that can rival the Italians’!”

Eponine’s jaw dropped at this tirade. “After all of that, I am so surprised that you lasted so long as an agent in the Mediterranean!”

“It’s easy to observe your subject when you are in no danger of falling in love with it,” Victoria said, taking a sip of tea. “As for Spanish wine, the less said of it, the better.”

“Why, what do you mean?”

“Remember your horror of drinking inferior wines when there were perfectly good Burgundy vintages available in Rome? You magnify that tenfold, and you have _my_ horror of Spanish wines.”

It was all that Eponine could do to keep a straight face even as she finished her tea. “Then on some other occasion?” she asked Victoria more hopefully.

“Yes, and one that involves fewer continental affairs,” Victoria said more thoughtfully. “Do be careful with your inquiry about the jewels. Not a lot of people are fond of finding out that their shining ornamentation is worse than worthless,” she added.

“I of all people should know. That tea was lovely, Victoria, and thank you so much for having me over. I hope to see you soon,” Eponine said, gathering up her shawl, her hat, and her bag of translations. She stepped out onto the Rue de Grenelle, then headed to the omnibus stop on the Champ de Mars. As she sat down in the omnibus, she sighed and braced herself for the journey to the Place Saint-Andre, where she was set to drop off some more translations. ‘ _It will not be long till it will become to difficult to travel this way,’_ she thought as she made herself comfortable in her seat, cradling her hands across the swell of her middle. After this short stop, she then took another omnibus, this time headed to the Marais.

When she arrived at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire, she saw Cosette also just arriving with a large market basket balanced on her hip. The Baronness blushed even as she nodded to her friend. “I only got to do the shopping a few times when I was still at the Rue Plumet with Father and Touissant. I need to get back into the habit again,” she explained.

Eponine smiled widely with understanding as they carried the goods into the house. “I s’pose this means you’ve found a place?”

“Yes, on the Rue Saint-Honore,” Cosette said, dropping her voice. “I’m getting it fixed up so that the children will be comfortable, and so that Marius will have _no_ objection to moving in.”

“How soon will you be able to get it fitted up?”

“By the end of October, which means we can commence moving in November and celebrate our Christmas in that new house.”

The mention of Christmas had Eponine grinning while they carried the basket into the kitchen. “That depends on how drawing lots goes, as we do each year. It’s better to just have one big dinner for us here instead of so many dinners with one house and another. For all I know, I might be the one to host!”

Cosette’s eyes were troubled as she looked at her friend. “Is it so wise to do that, with your husband’s condition?”

“Why, what about Antoine?”

“I heard that he is gravely ill, crippled even?”

Eponine’s eyes widened. “Why, he’s on the mend and recovering so fast that even Combeferre and Joly are surprised!”

“Word on the street says otherwise, at least among the busybodies of the Palais de Justice,” Cosette said, shaking her head. “I am glad that he is much better; you of all people would definitely know of course.”

“He is so ready to be up and about,” Eponine gushed. “We’re even hosting a…well, Victoria called it a _merienda cena_ , which is such an odd word for an afternoon meeting. You have to come and meet _Se_ _ñ_ _ora_ de Polignac and her friends!”

“It’s something Spanish?” Cosette asked, her eyes brightening.

“In this case it will be Spanish _and_ French,” Eponine said. “The Spanish call their appetizers and small snacks _tapas_ and that’s what they will bring. Clarita—that is _Se_ _ñ_ _ora_ de Polignac—said that they will find some way to bring over a cheese they call _Manchego_. They’re going to make canapes of green olives, anchovies and capers, or even of eggplants and tomatoes. Oh, and the tomatoes go into this soup they call _gazpacho._ And there’s this wonderful sausage they keep talking about called _sobrasada_ , and all the things they do with artichokes like stuff them with ham,” she continued excitedly, ticking these off on her fingers.

“My goodness, Ponine, you are making me hungry! What’s the French part of all of that then?” Cosette asked as she began to unpack the basket.

“We’re bringing in the entrees such as _pates_ and cheese spreads, and even some quiches and pies,” Eponine explained. “Then we’re also in charge of the desserts: almond cookies, puddings of apple and oranges, and I think Azelma might prevail upon a confectioner to make a cake especially for the occasion.”

“Is this a meeting or a feast?” Cosette laughed as she clasped Eponine’s hands. “Before you ask, of course I shall be there. By the way you describe your Spanish friends, they sound like the very sort of people who will liven up Paris!”

“That they are,” Eponine said with a smile even as she heard footsteps now approaching the kitchen. “I s’pose you’re wanted somewhere, Cosette.”

Cosette sighed deeply as she looked to the kitchen door. “Aunt? Is everything well?” she called, a note of worry in her voice.

“I need your opinion on this wedding gown!” Celestine Gillenormand called, now making her appearance in the doorway. “It’s been _years_ since I brought it out from my trousseau.”

Eponine covered her mouth if only to hide her astonishment at the sight of the spinster dressed in a bouffant dress of cream-colored silk that was cut as a robe, complete with ruffled edges over an embroidered stomacher. ‘ _She must have an actual pannier underneath it,’_ she thought, risking a glance at Cosette, whose expression was one of horror. “I have never seen anything like it before, Citizenness,” she managed to say.

“Of course you haven’t, you’ve never had a proper trousseau, I heard,” Celestine Gillenormand sniffed disdainfully as she looked at Eponine. “You’re putting on quite some weight; it is beginning to look unseemly under those new-fangled dresses of yours! How am I to have you as an attendant at the wedding!”

Cosette’s eyes widened. “Aunt!”

“The public already knows, since her fiancé announced it,” Eponine said dryly. “I s’pose it might be scandalous to have a woman so obviously with child, holding up your train and carrying a maiden’s bouquet?”

Celestine Gillenormand paled as she looked at Eponine from head to toe. “My word! That will simply not do! A woman in your condition, displaying herself in public!”

“It’s hardly displaying if I am working all day,” Eponine deadpanned. “With several children to feed, I do not have the luxury of actually secluding myself at home.”

Celestine Gillenormand gaped at her for a moment before crossing herself and turning to leave amid the rustling of silk. Cosette only sighed before shaking her head as she looked at her friend. “This wedding looks like it will need a miracle,” she said dryly. “A miracle meaning, something more than turning water into wine!”


	50. Questions of Legality

After ten years of knowing her, with nine of those being married, Enjolras thought he had already seen it all when it came to Eponine and her culinary projects. ‘ _Then again, living with her has always been full of surprises,’_ he thought as he headed to the kitchen at two in the afternoon, some three hours before the planned gatherings with the Spaniards. He paused upon catching a whiff of the aromas of lemons and garlic mingled with the briny smell of salted cod. “Might I know what you are making there?” he asked candidly, peering in from the doorway.

“Something close to what Monique would call a cod brandade,” Eponine replied, looking up from pounding some salted cod fillets in a mortar. “I think I’d prefer to put more olives than cream on this one, just to keep with the theme of the afternoon.”

_‘Mother used to make that often, till she said her wrists ached too much for it,’_ Enjolras thought as he entered the room. He raised an eyebrow at a collection of small, covered pots lined up on one side of the kitchen table. “What are these?”

“Some of them have the pork I was stewing yesterday, the others have a cheese spread I made this morning,” Eponine explained, gesturing from one pot to another. “I’m sorry about the first one and the smell of it all, but at least I didn’t go easy on the pepper!”

Enjolras smirked at the recollection of looking up from his writing, only to find the house permeated with a spicy aroma. “It would seem that after this, there will be no need for anyone to have any dinner,” he remarked even as he now saw Etienne rush in. “What is it, _petit_?”

“Auntie ‘Sette outside!” Etienne chirped, hugging his father’s shin.

“Well we’d better let her in then,” Enjolras said, taking one of the toddler’s sticky hands to lead him back to the hallway. With his free hand he unbolted the front door and opened it. “This is rather early,” he said to her by way of greeting.

“Yes, but I need to speak with you and Eponine about something,” Cosette said, pausing to absent-mindedly pat Etienne’s head before the boy rushed off again. She was dressed daintily as for an afternoon call, while carrying a large wicker basket covered with a large kerchief. She took a deep breath as she entered the house and shut the door. “I’m glad to see that you are well and recovering quickly,” she said more cheerily.

“Thank you. What is your pressing business?” Enjolras asked.

Cosette’s smile fell. “I am sure that you have already heard that I have found another place to live, and I will be moving there with my children,” she said anxiously.

Enjolras nodded. “When do you intend to proceed?”

“As soon as the house is ready, which may be very soon,” Cosette said. The Baronness swallowed hard as she looked at Enjolras. “I am worried that this may lead to some legal trouble especially if his kin object to it. That’s why I hope that Marius will follow us there or even move out with us immediately.”

“Have you disclosed this plan to him already?”

“How could I? He intends to stay at the Marais!”

‘ _If Pontmercy was a vengeful man he would insist that the children stay with him while Cosette goes her own way. Fortunately, this does not seem to be the case,’_ Enjolras thought even as he saw Cosette look down with a wan expression. “To avoid any misunderstanding, it would be best to make this known to him. I would suggest you have someone mediate, perhaps ask Courfeyrac. He will be here later to accompany Citizenness Karolyn,” he said at length.

“Would Courfeyrac do it, what with him and Marius being friends?” Cosette asked.

“He did the same for Feuilly during his domestic debacle years ago,” Enjolras pointed out. “If not Courfeyrac, then some other colleague he may recommend who also practices that line of law.”

Cosette was silent for some moments before she nodded slowly. “I shall try. Thank you for the advice, Enjolras,” she said with a slight smile as she went to the kitchen.

Enjolras waited for the sounds of chatter to ensue from this room before he went back to the study to continue preparing for the meeting with Sardou. ‘ _With Combeferre appealing for the sake of being humane, Courfeyrac reasoning on the favorable impressions this will make on the citizenry, Feuilly pointing out the international impact of granting asylum to the stateless, and de Polignac acting as a go-between, this should have the desired effect,’_ he reflected as he went over his reading. Even if he did not know much of the patients that Combeferre intended to represent, he was fairly certain that their presence would help make clear the urgency of the matter at hand. As he continued to read he heard more footsteps hurrying into the front hall, occasionally punctuated by the lively, high pitched greetings of the various ladies invited to the _Societe’s_ meeting, which was to be held in the living room while the men would meet in the study. At length he heard a familiar step in the hall, prompting him to set aside his reading and quit the study. “It is good to see you here now, Courfeyrac,” he greeted his friend, who had just arrived with Charlesette and Armand. “A certain friend of ours needs some assistance with a baron.”

Courfeyrac glanced to where Cosette was now talking with Eponine, Azelma and Simone Moreau-Bamatabois in the living room. “In a short while,” he said before whispering something in the Gascon patois to Charlesette, who then took Armand into the next room. The younger attorney smiled bravely before following Enjolras into the study. “I have not gotten around to it,” he announced ruefully.

“You mean proposing marriage to Citizenness Karolyn?” Enjolras asked dryly. “If you succeeded, the next room would be abuzz with the news.”

Courfeyrac’s naturally ruddy cheeks reddened further. “How did you go about it? I don’t mean the actual proposal---that’s between me and her---but how did you arrange to make everything acceptable?”

“Are you referring to legalities or finances?” Enjolras asked. “You are aware that you legally cannot be disinherited, while Citizenness Karolyn is mistress of her own estate?”

Courfeyrac nodded as he took a seat. “That is just the matter. All these years, I have supported myself and Armand solely on my own income. I have not had a single sou from Gascony, nothing from that manor that I understand now is a microcosm of tyranny. I am my own man, but what is that to an heiress?”

“It makes an independent home,” Enjolras pointed out. “Citizenness Karolyn’s holdings may be subject to some details that would, in practicality, limit its share in your conjugal property. Your ability to support a family without the help of an estate would keep Armand and Citizenness Karolyn free of any questions of succession.”

“Yet you are certain of passing on the estate in Provence to _all_ your children?”

“Only now. When Eponine and I married, the question of inheritance was not even mentioned. We were determined to live only on what we rightfully earned.”

Courfeyrac’s merry face grew pensive. “Charlesette is a brave woman. Do you think her courage extends even to that?”

“That is for you to know and find out, perhaps before proceeding,” Enjolras said. He clasped his friend’s shoulder warmly. “I wish you well.”

“Thank you,” Courfeyrac said, now smiling once again. “This is the part of marriage stories that no troubadour dares to intrude on. Unless Prouvaire would dare?”

Enjolras shook his head. “While we are on these dire topics, I will let you know that Cosette needs your assistance in particular.”

The younger attorney cringed. “This is still concerning her debacle with Marius? I do not wish to take sides in event of a separation.”

“I take that she is not contemplating that, only the ramifications of a change of address,” Enjolras said. “She is here now, with Eponine.”

“I shall try to get a word in edgewise,” Courfeyrac quipped. He turned at the sound of a knock on the study door. “Combeferre! Are you here with Claudine?”

“Yes, as well as these fine gentlemen here,” Combeferre greeted, gesturing to six men accompanying him. “Meet some of my patients and their kindred: _Se_ _ñ_ _ors_ Castro, Blanco, Ibarra, Uribe, Paras, and Noriega. _Se_ _ñ_ _ors_ , meet my dearest friends Citizens Enjolras and Courfeyrac.”

“A pleasure to meet you, _Se_ _ñ_ _ors_ ,” Enjolras said, shaking the Spanish gentlemen’s hands. All of them were still a little pale and wan from sleepless nights, and two of them still sported bandages. “ _Se_ _ñ_ _or_ de Polignac should be here shortly.”

“And here he is!” de Polignac greeted, now making his appearance with Feuilly in tow. “Is Citizen Sardou already here?”

“He should hopefully make an appearance shortly,” Enjolras said, checking his watch only to find that the time was just past four-thirty in the afternoon. ‘ _It is still rather early for a late afternoon event,’_ he thought even as he stepped back to let Combeferre make the introductions.

In the midst of this he saw Feuilly’s expression go from congenial to grave. Discreetly, he stepped towards the diplomat. “Do you know them?” he asked in Occitan.

Feuilly nodded. “Uribe is a familiar name, a contact of my wife.”

“A Basque?”

“Yes, and a very outspoken one, if you know what I mean.”

“I see,” Enjolras said, knowing all too well what often came out of any discussions with Feuilly’s wife Leonor regarding the issue of the Basque countries’ unification and eventual independence. “Has this been communicated to Sardou yet?”

“That cannot be ascertained,” Feuilly said. “Although the Basques have their reasons for their demands, it would not be wise for France to be seen allying with them especially if we want to appeal to Espartero and the _Cortes_ to treat all Spanish citizens with dignity regardless of political leanings or regional alliances.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras concurred as he took another look at his watch. ‘ _Where could Citizen Sardou be?’_ he wondered even as he now heard the laughter and footsteps in the hall that could only signal a meal being served.


	51. Talk on the Street

_October 9, 1842_

_My dear Monique,_

_I’m writing mainly to thank you for the cod brandade recipe, which was a tremendous success at a wonderful little gathering that Antoine and I hosted at home. I had to make some changes to it since salted cod is easier to come by than fresh, and I wanted it to very savory, so I added more olives. My friend Charlesette Karolyn---I mentioned her as being from Auch---has christened it as ‘cod brandade a la Parisienne’, which may be very fitting. It would not have been possible though without your teaching me how to make the original to begin with!_

_Antoine beseeches you (and he will do so again in his own letter) not to worry overmuch about his health. He is healing up so well, almost as fast as a child would. He is following Combeferre’s orders, at least as much as his work and temperament allow him to. That gathering I mentioned was partly his doing: I wanted to host a meeting that would officially welcome some Spanish ladies to Paris, while Antoine has taken a hand in making sure that Spaniards fleeing across to our side of the Pyrenees will be treated well. I still am not sure how we all fit on the ground floor, but we somehow did! The ladies from Spain are a wonderful group. They are not like what our caricaturists draw with sour faces, black mantillas, and heavy rosary beads dangling from their waists. They are as every bit as lively as we Frenchwomen are, though I daresay that what sets us apart from them is best described as ineffable. The Spanish, or at least those who are Madrid-born, have such a fire about them that makes them formidable yet charming. One of this group is married to a Frenchman, a son of the de Polignacs. Clarita, as she prefers to be called, is the sweetest and wittiest new acquaintance I have made in a while. I hope that she and her family will make a safe haven here in France, and if they do choose to return to Spain, that our communication will not be severed by distance._

_I daresay that my venture was more successful than Antoine’s, sad to say. The guest of honor for his meeting, the head of the Foreign Office, was suddenly indisposed. We did not learn of it till an hour past the appointed time of meeting. For all intents and purposes, it was written off as a simple case of food poisoning. However, it has been more than two days, and we have yet to receive word of his recovery. We all hope it is nothing serious._

_All the children are doing very well and back at school, save of course for Etienne. As for my own health, I am finally feeling more of myself and the little one is growing steadily. Perhaps he or she will begin quickening by the end of this month or in the early days of next._

_I hope that you, Louis and all the rest of the family are well. I hope to hear from you soon!_

_Eponine_

In the days after sending this missive, it was all that Eponine could do to prevent herself from visiting the post office in hopes of finding the reply. “Of course, since it is the harvest now in Provence, she and my father-in-law must be very busy and unable to do much for a reply. That or they are saving all the news for one long retelling when they are next here in Paris,” she said to Charlesette on the morning of the 14th as they were running errands. “Is the harvest also just as busy in Auch?”

“At this time of the year no one talks of anything else,” Charlesette said with a knowing eye-roll. “You are so lucky to have in-laws who treat you like one of their own. I know, you’ll say that it’s because you make their only son happy, but I can tell that they like you for who you are too.”

“And yours won’t?”

“You mean Maurice’s parents? I do not think they are the slightest bit thrilled that he has renewed our childhood acquaintance.”

Eponine bit her lip. “Why would you say so?”

“It isn’t usual for a woman in Auch, or even in most parts of the Midi, to be in charge of her property without a husband,” Charlesette explained. Her droll face grew wistful as she looked towards the busy street they were about to cross. “I’d rather be alone than have someone else. Has he told you or Enjolras anything?”

“What do you mean?”

“Maurice. You two are among his closest friends. Could you tell me why he is acting so…peculiar all of a sudden?”

“There is not a month when Courfeyrac acts perfectly normal,” Eponine quipped. “What exactly are you referring to?”

“Well he’s prudent enough but he’s taken a sudden interest in accounting. Suddenly he is so worried about his finances, even if he is doing well enough,” Charlesette said. Her face reddened for a moment before she spoke again. “I also found him rather dangerously…near my jewel box. I do not wish to presume, but perhaps he was looking for my preferences in rings?”

“That is the sort of devilishly romantic thing he would do,” Eponine pointed out. She clasped Charlesette’s arm confidentially as they crossed the street. “He wouldn’t tell _me_ since he knows that I’d tell you. If he’s told my husband anything, then we will not find out the matter. Antoine will keep the matter under lock and key, in his own way, till the proper time. The best we can do is wait.”

Charlesette paused before sighing dramatically. “All this theatricality! Speaking of that, have you seen Prouvaire’s newest play already?”

“We went last night! It was the first time that Antoine was allowed out of the house in a while, and we had to be very careful,” Eponine said. “If you haven’t been to the theater, please go even if for just one night. Prouvaire’s script is charming and my sister has done such amazing work on the costumes and sets. I believe they even took some of Grantaire’s suggestions into account and made that already fine play into a masterpiece.”

“Then I shall ask Maurice to get us tickets,” Charlesette decided. She paused and looked at Eponine quizzically. “Why is that officer up the street now signing to us?”

Eponine glanced to where the older woman had been looking, and groaned at the sight of Theodule in full regalia. “I once knew him. Come along,” she said, grabbing Charlesette’s arm once again. “We have to go.”

“Eponine!” Theodule suddenly called, now walking towards the two women. He doffed his hat and bowed to them gallantly. “May I walk with you and your…friend?”

“We are doing fine by ourselves, thank you very much,” Eponine said, giving him only a brief sidelong glance as she stepped away. She gritted her teeth when she saw Theodule step up as if to block their path. “By the way, it is Citizenness Enjolras to you and to most everyone else.”

“I knew you as Eponine first,” Theodule muttered, bowing his head slightly before looking at her keenly. “It is strange that your husband should let you walk around unescorted. Then again given his physical weakness, this is not surprising.”

“What does that make me, a ghost?” Charlesette chimed in icily, looking Theodule over from head to toe. “And who might you be?”

“A gallant gentleman to a lady, if she would have it,” Theodule said. “Who are you?”

“Her friend,” Charlesette said, now pushing past Theodule just hard enough to give Eponine an opening as well. Her face was pale with disgust as she and her friend now left the lancer behind. “Was he some spurned suitor of yours?”

“You could say that, if you could call what he did as courting,” Eponine hissed. “That was so many years ago, when I was hardly more than a girl!”

“Well he seems to think he can still do it, even if you have a husband.”

“I’d like to see him try!”

Charlesette shook her head even as they walked more quickly to an omnibus stop. “Do watch yourself, Eponine. There is talk on the street that Enjolras is permanently incapacitated, but I think that your appearance at the theater may have dispelled that somewhat. Lesser men would see this state of affairs as an opportunity,” she whispered.

Eponine shook her head. “That is far too scandalous, even for Paris.”

“I know, but people thrive on such talk.” Charlesette clasped Eponine’s wrist gently. “Do you need me to walk with you back to the Rue Guisarde? Maurice would understand if I am a little late for our rendezvous.”

“I’ll be fine. I know my way about,” Eponine reassured her friend. “Besides, why should I get in the way of your felicity?”

“If that happens, you will be among the first to know!” Charlesette laughed, kissing both of Eponine’s cheeks. “Do take care!”

“You too!” Eponine said before they parted ways, with Charlesette taking the next omnibus. She sighed as she looked over her shoulder, only to see Theodule making a bow to a slender maiden who seemed to be only a few years younger than Ariadne Wright. “Courting indeed!” she muttered as she continued on her way to 9 Rue Guisarde.

When she arrived, she saw Enjolras and Etienne sitting on the front steps, with the door open behind them. “We are letting out the smell of the paint. The workmen just left,” Enjolras explained. “You’ll be happy to see what they have done with Laure’s room.”

“Not as thrilled as Laure will be to finally see it or use it,” Eponine said lightly as she went to sit next to them. She let Etienne climb into her lap even as she buried her nose into the side of Enjolras’ shoulder. ‘ _How could anyone think I’d possibly want anyone else?’_ she thought.

Enjolras touched Eponine’s hand. “Is everything well?” he asked.

“Now it is,” Eponine said, meeting his deep blue eyes with a smile. “Did you want anything in particular for lunch?”

“The usual bread and cheese will be fine; I do not think the fumes from upstairs have made the kitchen safe to cook in,” Enjolras said. His eyebrows shot up as he looked towards the yard. “Someone is at the gate.”

“It’s Lamarre,” Eponine whispered, sitting up. “Come in! The gate is unlatched.”

The diplomat nodded before letting himself in and nearly stumbling up to the house. “Enjolras, Eponine, you would not believe what I have just heard,” he whispered exhaustedly. The diplomat was pale and covered with a cold sweat. “Such terrible news.”

“Sit on the step,” Enjolras said. “Did you just run all the way from the Home Office?”

Lamarre nodded as he unbuttoned his coat and undid his cravat. “News from there, and it’s about Sardou.”

“Is he well?”

“Far from it. It appears as if he’s been laid low by some shellfish and still cannot move. The doctors say he will recover but it may not be for a while.”

Eponine bit her lip even as she saw Enjolras’ eyes darken with worry. “Will someone step up to take over, for the time being at least?”

Lamarre nodded miserably. “He told me to be careful,” he whispered. The normally intrepid man’s eyes were wide as he looked at his friends. “I had no choice but to accept; he is my mentor. But why do I get the feeling that I just signed my own death warrant?”


	52. The Basque Question

After a hurried lunch on the steps, Enjolras went upstairs to bind up his still healing injury and put on a fresh set of clothes. As he was buttoning up his shirt and waistcoat over the bandages, he heard Eponine’s step in the bedroom doorway. “You know why I have to go with Citizen Lamarre,” he deadpanned, turning to look at her.

Eponine nodded grimly as she closed the distance between them and began tying his cravat. “I told him to bring you back in one piece,” she said, arranging the tidy knot deftly. She bit her lip as she looked straight at him. “First that attempt on Belmont and his friend in Spain, then what happened to Citizen D’Aramitz, then your injury, and now this. If you ask me, diplomacy is terribly dangerous business.”

“Dangerous but necessary,” Enjolras pointed out as he took both her hands in his before he kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you later, Eponine.”

Eponine managed a smile before reaching up to kiss him back. “Be careful, Antoine,” she whispered against his lips before stepping away.

‘ _The sooner we resolve this, the less she will have to worry about,’_ Enjolras thought, taking a moment to revel in the sight of her, especially with the swell of her middle now becoming more obvious. He then quickly headed downstairs to meet Lamarre, who had already hailed a fiacre to bring them to Sardou’s home near the Quai Montebello.

When the two men arrived, they were just in time to see a doctor leaving the premises. “Citizen, any news of Sardou?” Enjolras asked as he alighted from the carriage.

“His case is a peculiar one; I have never seen one like it,” the doctor said, wiping his brow. “It is not unheard of for someone to be weakened due to vomiting and expulsion of various humors after ingesting a bad mussel. In most cases though, the patient should not end up practically paralyzed the way he has.”

Lamarre’s jaw dropped. “Paralyzed?”

The doctor nodded grimly. “See for yourself. I would advise against disturbing or agitating the patient. What business do you have here at his residence?”

“To get some papers. I will be handling some work affairs for him, indefinitely,” the young diplomat said, walking past the doctor and into the house. He shook his head perplexedly as Enjolras joined him. “Where could he have come across such a thing?”

“It would be worth asking Combeferre, Joly, and our other physician friends if they have come across similar cases in the past day or so,” Enjolras pointed out.

“Yes, if only to ease our minds about this rather suspect timing,” Lamarre said as they headed upstairs. He led the way to a door that had been left ajar, just enough to let in some air. “Sardou! It’s me, Lamarre!” he called as he made an entrance. “What, you can’t even speak, my friend?” he added with dismay.

Enjolras swallowed hard as he stepped forward and finally caught sight of the head of the diplomatic corps, lying in bed with the covers drawn up to his chest. The older diplomat was very pale, and only his fingers and lips seemed to be moving. ‘ _At least for now he has the strength to still draw breath,’_ he thought even as he stepped aside to let Lamarre speak with a nurse. When he looked at Sardou again, he saw the diplomat blink as if by way of recognition. “Can you hear us?” he asked in an undertone.

Lamarre gaped at him. “What are you trying to do?” he asked, going to the sick man’s bedside. “Sardou? Can you blink twice if you can recognize us?”

It was all that Enjolras could do to signal to Lamarre to lower his voice when Sardou managed two blinks. “Citizen Lamarre will be handling the Home Office till you make a full recovery,” he said, earning him more blinks.

“Are there more papers here in the house that I must pick up?” Lamarre asked worriedly. He swallowed hard even as Sardou blinked again. “In your study, yes?”

At that moment Enjolras heard footsteps and shouts downstairs, indicating some sort of argument afoot. “Stay here,” he warned Lamarre before he made his way to the second-floor hallway. Here he now saw a familiar Spaniard walking up the stairs, his mouth set in a determined line. “Good day _Se_ _ñ_ _or_ Uribe. How is it you know of this address?” he greeted.

Before Uribe could speak, another figure was ascending the steps. “I told him,” a woman’s voice replied. In a few moments the even more familiar face of Leonor Feuilly _nee_ Torres came into view. “I was under the impression that you were still abed, Enjolras. It is good to see it isn’t so. We have to speak to Citizen Sardou, urgently,” she added snappishly.

“He is very ill. Did you not run into his physician on the way here?” Enjolras said.

Uribe’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Enjolras from head to toe. “Are you suddenly his lackey or gatekeeper?”

“Only a friend,” Lamarre chimed in, now making his appearance. “You should not be here, _Se_ _ñ_ _or,”_ he said, lowering his voice.

“Uribe. _Se_ _ñ_ _or_ Uribe,” the Spaniard said. “My companions and I were supposed to meet with _Se_ _ñ_ _or_ Sardou some days ago. Who might you be?”

“Citizen Lamarre, an official of the French diplomatic corps,” Lamarre said, extending his hand. He raised an eyebrow when Uribe barely extended his own hand to give a perfunctory handshake. “Perhaps we should speak elsewhere.”

“My errand is only with _Se_ _ñ_ _or_ Sardou,” Uribe answered coldly.

“He is ill, and I am handling his office in the interim,” Lamarre retorted, crossing his arms. “If the matter is very urgent, we may discuss it right here, right now.”

Leonor put one hand akimbo. “If you truly knew of the business that brings us here, you would not discuss it so cavalierly, Citizen.”

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Since it is only the two of you here, I surmise that it has to do with affairs in the Basque Country.” He smirked as he saw Uribe swallow hard while Leonor’s eyes narrowed. “State it then, and plainly.”

Uribe took a deep breath before looking squarely at Enjolras. “You are not ignorant of how matters stand in our homeland. You have been acquainted with our departed friends Gaz and Arriola. You yourself have witnessed the cruelty that General Espartero inflicts on those who would dare to oppose him, even if they are in the right of it owing to our longstanding history and treaties. How is it possible that France can simply stand by to watch this injustice?”

“It is not French foreign policy either to assist irredentism, especially if it involves inciting unrest and toppling a legitimate government,” Enjolras pointed out. “The claim of the Basque Country has its historic roots, but either the northern secession from France or the southern secession from Spain is not condoned by the government.”

“I told you he would not be sympathetic. He never has!” Leonor hissed at Uribe. She scoffed as she looked at Enjolras. “France has an opportunity to defend liberty, equality, and fraternity, and now she shirks at the first test! Once upon a time we were a brave people, with no fear of spreading our principles!”

“If you are referring to the times when France, be it with the Republic’s army or Buonaparte’s _Grand Armee_ engaged in conquest, I can assure you that is no longer in our foreign policy either,” Enjolras retorted. “There are other ways to plant and promulgate our guiding principles without oppressing the basic rights of our neighbors.”

“Do you understand what the rule from Madrid means for us in the Basque country?” Uribe argued. “Without our agreements we will be forced to fight for a king or even an upstart who cares nothing for us. Our culture and institutions will be placed on a level with that of other provinces. What people can still hold itself with pride when laid so low?”

“I have learned these past years that the notion of a nation or people’s superiority over another may be the root of tyranny, even if such ascendancy comes from a place of enlightenment and espousing the principles we hold dear.”

“You have the ear of the diplomatic corps. Will you not put in a word for our plight?”

Enjolras glanced at Lamarre, who shook his head. “My opinion or insight does not suffice to form policy,” the lawyer finally said, looking first at Uribe and then at Leonor. “Our responsibility extends to those seeking refuge within our borders, but not to foment any events without.”

Leonor shook her head with dismay. “Each year you remain in Paris corrupts you, Enjolras. You are so far removed from the Midi.”

“Born in the Midi as I may be, I am first and foremost a Frenchman and a French citizen.” Enjolras met Leonor’s haughty look coolly. “Now it is my turn to ask some questions, which perhaps Citizen Sardou would have posed had the meeting transpired as planned. I charge you, on your honor, to answer this query: are you or your companions in any way involved with the explosion outside the Palais de Justice last month?”

Uribe shook his head while Leonor gritted her teeth. “How dare you make such an accusation?” Leonor seethed.

“The suspects were found with papers pertaining to connections in Spain.”

“Then ask in Madrid!”

‘ _In that regard she has a point, since the connection was with du Bellay the émigré,’_ Enjolras thought. “Is there anything you would want to say to this, Citizen Lamarre?” he asked the diplomat standing near him.

“The Prefecture is best off handling that matter regarding the explosion, but I will give this warning,” Lamarre said. He smiled at Uribe but none of this congeniality reached his eyes. “For as long as you abide by French law, we will extend every assistance and courtesy it is within our power to do so, till you decide to end your period of asylum or become French citizens if that will be come an option to you. The moment, however, you are proven to be connected to any efforts to destabilize this state, we will not hesitate to initiate deportation proceedings. Is that clear?”

“Extremely,” Uribe said tersely. He nodded to Leonor. “Enough of this. The matter is also apparent to us. We shall be on our way.”

Leonor made a ‘hmph’ sound as she looked at Enjolras. “Send my regards to Gilles. You see more of him than I do,” she said before heading down the stairs, leaving Uribe to follow.

Lamarre shook his head as he watched the pair leave. “Connections to the Basque movement?” he asked Enjolras.

“Adrien Gaz was known to me when I was a schoolboy in Aix. Arriola I met during my travels in Spain, but he was murdered before the month was out,” Enjolras answered.

Lamarre took a breath between gritted teeth. “Then perhaps it isn’t the diplomatic corps that is in danger, but it’s you, Enjolras,” he said, shaking his head once again. He was silent for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. “For your safety as well as your family’s, I must ask you to limit your diplomatic activities only to writing that primer and nothing more. I am not about to be responsible for leaving your wife a widow and your children fatherless." 


	53. A Rose at War

Much to Eponine’s relief, the week following Lamarre’s sudden visit was relatively uneventful, save perhaps for Enjolras’ occasional restiveness at being once again left out of events. “I’d enjoy the next few days of quiet, if I were you,” she said to him on the afternoon of October 22 as they were working in the study. “Once Combeferre says you’re well, which might be very soon, you’ll have no end of cases to work on.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he looked up from the draft he had been penning. “I am certain by the time that occurs, the question of the Spanish refugees will have only confounded itself,” he said tersely. “In effect, I have left our friends to flounder.”

“De Polignac is a smart man, and with Clarita’s help I am sure he will come across something,” Eponine pointed out, raising her voice slightly to be heard over the din of their children running past outside the room. “As for the others, isn’t Combeferre advocating for them?”

“For their material welfare, but what of this problem with Citizenness Leonor Feuilly and her friend Citizen Uribe?”

“I s’pose _that_ should be Lamarre’s affair. Not yours.”

Enjolras shook his head as he dipped his pen back into the inkwell. “Inevitably the question of political refugees is still relevant, because of this primer,” he said, indicating the work before him. His eyes narrowed as he reviewed the lines he had just penned. “In another life, that would have been my fate, or even yours should you have chosen to share it.”

“Another life, but we’re here now,” Eponine said. She sighed as she moved her chair closer to her husband’s, just so she could slip her arms around his shoulders and bury her face in the crook of his neck for a moment. “You don’t regret it, I hope?”

“What is there to regret?”

“Well, you used to think martyrdom suited you.”

Enjolras relaxed slightly even as he gave her a sidelong glance. “If this is still about what happened at the Palais de Justice, you should know that I was rather disturbed by it too. I had no intention of potentially leaving you so bereft.”

Eponine snorted as she looked right at him. “At least that crossed your mind.” She fell silent again, just in time to feel a telltale light kick within her midsection. “Oh my goodness!” she whispered as she grabbed Enjolras’ hand.

“Is everything well?” Enjolras asked.

“Yes, more than well this time.” She brought his palm over to where she’d felt the kick towards the lower part of her abdomen. “Maybe she’ll kick again.”

He smirked at her bemusedly as he obliged. “I am still amazed that you are so sure that we are having a daughter,” he remarked, only to smile more widely when this time the baby kicked again right under his hand. “Just like the others, this one recognizes our voices early, even before being born.”

“Naturally they all would. You are their father after all,” Eponine pointed out. The trepidation of the past few minutes was now completely banished by the exhilaration of feeling their child quickening, such that she found herself wiping away a few tears from her eyes. “Nothing is wrong, Antoine. I’m just so happy that you’re here with me now. And I s’pose I’d never want this with anyone else.”

“You are the one with a gift for making many things things possible,” Enjolras said in a low voice before he kissed her deeply, leaving her flushed even as they came up for air. “As well as a gift for surprises.”

“Someone has to surprise you in a _good_ way from time to time,” Eponine quipped even as three light knocks sounded on the study door. “Laure? The door is unlocked,” she called.

“Maman, Papa, something’s happened!” Laure greeted breathlessly. “Marie-Fantine is here because her parents are fighting!”

“Marie-Fantine is _what?”_ Eponine exclaimed only to see her goddaughter now rush into the study, sobbing piteously. The normally fresh and clean child looked rather unsteady on her feet, and her clothes were dusty from travel. “Who’s here with you?” she asked even as Marie-Fantine suddenly buried her face in her skirt.

Marie-Fantine gulped and choked as she tried to catch her breath and get her disheveled dark hair out of her face. “No one, Aunt Ponine!” 

“What do you mean by no one?”

“I came here all by myself, on the omnibus!”

“All the way from the Marais?” Eponine exclaimed, exchanging a brief, worried look with Enjolras. She got to her feet and crouched to get a better look at the girl. “It’s a good thing no one did anything horrible to you on the omnibus! Do either of your parents even know you’re here?”

Marie-Fantine shook her head. “Maman and Papa have been shouting at each other all day, because Maman wants us to all go with her to another house today but Papa won’t come!” The girl broke into a fresh round of tears, which she tried to hide in a handkerchief that Laure handed her. “Can you and Uncle Enjolras do something?”

“So much for mediation,” Enjolras muttered as he got to his feet. “You’d better wash your face, Marie-Fantine. Your aunt and I will accompany you back home.”

Laure brightened as she hopped up. “Can I come, Papa?”

“Not this time, _petite_. This is a matter for grown-ups,” Enjolras admonished as he went to the door and headed upstairs.

Eponine bit her lip as she helped Marie-Fantine straighten out her clothes. “Laure, please bring Marie-Fantine with you to the kitchen and give her some of what we had for lunch. I don’t think she’s eaten anything. In the meantime, I need to have a word with your brothers,” she instructed. She smoothed down her dress before going into the living room, where she found Jacques playing marbles with Julien, while Etienne napped nearby on the sofa. Neville and Ariadne were at the window, deep in conversation. “Your father and I need to go to the Marais for a while,” she announced.

Neville’s jaw dropped as he looked at Eponine. “It’s about the Pontmercys, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but you need to keep that under your hat, for Marie-Fantine’s sake.” Eponine nodded to him and Ariadne. “I know that you’re company, Ariadne, but if you will be here all afternoon, please help Neville take charge. Hopefully we’ll all be back by dinner and you can join us too.”

“I’d be happy to,” Ariadne said with a smile. “Could we please cook?”

“Actually I’d prefer to take charge of dinner later, as thanks,” Eponine replied. She sighed as Julien went up to hug her. “Papa and I will make it as quick as we can. You be good for Neville and Ariadne, please?”

Julien nodded trustingly. “I’ll tell Tienne too.”

Jacques glanced at everyone with consternation. “Why is everyone putting Neville and Ariadne in charge, and not me?”

“Because Neville is grown up and Ariadne is a lady!” Laure called from the hallway.

“Laure, please do not give _all_ your brothers a difficult time,” Eponine said, turning to see her daughter standing next to a much calmer Marie-Fantine. Both girls were holding large pieces of bread and Brie. “Marie-Fantine, we’d better go before your parents start worrying about you.”

“Can’t they just come for me here, like they always do?” Marie-Fantine asked.

“This time it might not be as simple as that,” Eponine pointed out, glancing to where Enjolras was heading back downstairs, now fully dressed. ‘ _It would not do to make Cosette more upset than she already is,’_ she thought even as she took a pelisse that Enjolras handed to her. After a few more instructions and reassurances, Enjolras and Eponine headed out with little Marie-Fantine to find a fiacre to bring them to 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire.

Even before they approached the front door of the house, Enjolras and Eponine could hear the raised voices of Marius and Cosette from one of the downstairs rooms. “This is awful. They never fight like this!” Eponine whispered.

“The question is, do they even have anything out?” Enjolras asked before knocking once. “Marius Pontmercy! Cosette!” he called.

A moment later, Cosette opened the door, looking wild and slightly disheveled even in her traveling clothes. “What are you doing here?” she gasped before suddenly realizing who was with them. “Marie-Fantine! What have you been doing?” she cried as she grabbed her daughter.

Marie-Fantine sniffled as she buried her face in her mother’s dress. “I went to get help, Maman. I’m sorry.”

“What’s happening?” Marius asked, now emerging from his study, only to stop short at the sight of his friends. “What are you two doing here?”

“Bringing your daughter back to safety,” Enjolras deadpanned. “Neither of you noticed that she’d slipped out.”

Marius blinked as he realized now who Cosette had in her arms. “Thank you,” he said brusquely. He looked to Marie-Fantine, who’d raised her head to meet his eyes. “Marie-Fantine, now that you’re home, maybe you can tell your mother to stop this foolishness so we can all stay here,” he said to the girl.

Cosette’s jaw dropped as she set Marie-Fantine on her feet. “Marius, how dare you!”

Marie-Fantine glanced from Cosette to Marius. “I don’t want both of you to fight anymore, Maman and Papa,” she whimpered.

Cosette nodded as she brushed out Marie-Fantine’s hair. “Go to your brothers and your sister,” she whispered before motioning for the child to go into the drawing room. Her dark blue eyes were red-rimmed and bright with a rage that had never been there before. “Can’t you see how this is affecting them? It’s not going to get better if that awful man moves in here while we are around, I can assure you!” she cried.

“Nor will getting our friends involved! First Courfeyrac, now them?” Marius retorted. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Enjolras and Eponine. “I would appreciate it if you both stayed out of our business.” 

“I will, once you stop making my sister cry,” Eponine said, crossing her arms. “And I’ve told you before that it’s not your business only, since I do not want a step-mother out of this.”

“Is this why you are getting Cosette to leave me?” Marius asked wildly.

“How is a change in domicile construed as leaving?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow. “From what we understand, your wife wishes to move to another suitable residence and wishes that you would follow.”

Marius gaped at him and then at Cosette. “I don’t understand why you would wish to leave our home,” he said to his wife.

“ _This_ isn’t a home, not our home at least!” Cosette shot back. “In all the years we’ve lived here, this has always been your grandfather’s house, the house you grew up in, or a place for us to stay in with Papa, Grandfather, and your aunt, but never a home we really made for ourselves and our children. I’ve never felt like mistress of my own home.”

“Then if that’s your problem, we can let Nicolette run every housekeeping decision by you from this point onwards.”

“That’s not the point, Marius!”

“For as long as this is your grandfather’s house, and I s’pose it will be your aunt’s house someday, neither of you will really get to decide who will be received here or who will stay here. So if his aunt wants to stay here with her future husband, there’s nothing you can really do about it,” Eponine said tersely, even as she felt bile rise to her throat at the mention of her father. “That’s the point she is trying to make.”

“Which is why I will talk with my aunt and ask her if we can divide this house into apartments of some sort so there will not be a reason for any conflict,” Marius reasoned. “Our paths will cross with theirs as little as possible.”

Cosette shook her head. “That will not be enough. You know how he is. You know that she will stand by him, the same way as I hoped you’d stand with me!”

It was all that Eponine could do not to flinch at her friend’s use of the past tense, more so when she saw how Cosette averted her gaze from Marius’ before going into the next room, where the children waited. “Why will you not listen to her? After all she’s been through, you want her to live under the same roof again with that man?” she asked. “Not just her, but the children too!”

“You are overstepping, Eponine. Do I advise you and Enjolras on your marital affairs?” Marius shot back, wheeling on her.

“No, and I’m glad you do not,” Eponine retorted. ‘ _To think I thought once that I would be his Baronness!’_ she thought with a shudder. She felt Enjolras’ hand on the back of her neck and she allowed herself a glance at him before she looked to Marius again. “There is still time. You can pack your things and go with her.”

“And displease my aunt, the woman who helped raise me?”

“Was she the one you said your vows to, on the altar?”

Marius’ face went very pale for a moment even as his fist clenched as he looked at Eponine. “What would _you_ know about family, Eponine?”

Enjolras stepped forward with a stern look on his face. “You will not speak to her that way.” His eyes were unyielding even as Marius paled and flinched. “I will not tell you how to treat your wife, but I will not allow you to disrespect mine.”

“Marius!” Cosette called suddenly. The trio now turned to see her at the drawing room door, holding a valise as well as two carpetbags on her shoulders. Little Georges and Marie-Fantine had small valises with them, while the two youngest children Lucille and Jean carried nothing. “Please. Come with us. I swear the house at the Rue Saint-Honore is nice and you’ll like it. We’ll be happy there,” she said, clearly trying to keep her voice level.

Marius shook his head. “How can I make you see beyond this foolishness, Cosette?”

The Baronness sighed before motioning for her children to step out of the house. “Ponine, I’ll write. You can visit soon, I promise,” she said, clasping Eponine’s arm. “You and Azelma, even the gentlemen too if they so wish,” she added, looking to Enjolras.

“If you need help, let us know,” Eponine said before swallowing hard. In that moment it seemed to her that Cosette was more resolute than she’d ever seen her, but all the same she could not help but wonder how her friend would get on. “You sure you do not need help now?”

“I have to do this on my own,” Cosette said steadily before stepping away to eye Marius intently. “Is that how you regard saving our family? This is all foolishness to you?” she asked.

Marius crossed the room just to clasp her hand tenderly. “You can’t do this. You need me.”

For a moment, Cosette smiled bitterly before squeezing his hand and stepping away. “You’re wrong. I don’t need you, but I want you. I want you to come with me. I realize now, that’s what makes it hurt all the more. Goodbye for now, Marius.”

“Cosette!” Marius cried even as his wife went to the door. He looked bewilderedly at Eponine and Enjolras. “Please, stop her!” he shouted, looking to where Cosette was now helping the youngsters board a waiting fiacre.

“You did not want us to interfere, as you said,” Eponine pointed out. “We’re doing just as you asked us to.”

“I can’t believe you’re letting this happen!”

Enjolras shook his head as he regarded Marius again. “If you wish to ask for our assistance, you know where to find us. Good day to you, Pontmercy,” he said, taking Eponine’s hand before they left the house. 


	54. An Unequal Marriage

As Enjolras had expected, neither of the Pontmercys sent any further word for the remainder of that Saturday. “Though how is that going to go, if we are all expected at the Prouvaires’ lunchtime fete later?” Eponine fretted the next day as they were rinsing out the breakfast dishes. “I don’t know if Cosette would go since there is so much to do when setting up a new house. But what if Bossuet prevails upon Marius to be there?”

“There is a chance that after yesterday, Pontmercy will elect to be absent,” Enjolras pointed out as he put a spoon into a basket. “He may take some time to cool his heels.”

“Yes, and I s’pose that by now everyone will know the reason for that.” Eponine bit her lip as she wiped her soaked hands on her apron. Her palms came to rest over her midsection as if she had just felt their unborn child kick there once again. “It does not help at all that Bossuet knows of most of it or even all of it since he does work with them.”

‘ _Because he would be troubled, then Joly and Grantaire would guess the matter, thus leading to the end of all secrecy,’_ Enjolras thought wryly. “Did Cosette tell anyone else?” he asked.

Eponine shrugged as she resumed rinsing out a pan she had used earlier for cooking. “Azelma might have guessed a thing or two about how things stand there. Maybe the other ladies might have figured out something is amiss, especially since Cosette was not herself at that meeting we had here. I don’t think anyone quite knows about yesterday.”

“As it should be.”

“Do you think we shouldn’t have gotten involved?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this query. “Would you have simply let your godchild go without any succor or aid?”

“Not at all. I was actually thinking about the talking-to that you and Courfeyrac gave Marius, or my going with Cosette to find a new place to stay,” Eponine pointed out. “Maybe Marius is right, and we were overstepping.”

“The alternative would have been not saying anything, and simply allowing our friends and their children to be exposed to a dangerous recidivist.”

“I s’pose at this point that man is worse than a repeat offender, Antoine.”

“Indeed.” Before Enjolras could pick up another pot to clean up, he heard footsteps hurrying into the kitchen. “What is it, Laure?” he asked, feeling his nose beginning to itch from a heady fragrance that suddenly permeated the air.

“Look at these pretty flowers someone left at the gate for Maman!” Laure chirped as she held up a large bouquet of red and white blossoms, with their stems tied together with a thin white ribbon. “They smell so nice!”

Eponine’s brow furrowed as she picked up the flowers. “Did you see who left this?”

Laure scratched her head. “A tall man, but not as tall as Papa, who had mustaches and a shiny uniform. Do people wear uniforms on Sundays?”

Enjolras felt his blood run cold at this query, more so when he saw Eponine grow still for a moment. He kept his eyes trained on her and her shaking hands as she quickly set the bouquet aside on the kitchen table. “Is that man still outside?” he asked slowly, now looking at their daughter.

The little girl shook her head. “You don’t like him, Papa?”

Eponine quickly crouched to smooth out Laure’s hair and clothes. “Laure, your Papa and I need to talk for a bit. Everything will be fine,” she said, kissing the top of the child’s head before ushering her out of the kitchen. She sighed as she looked at Enjolras. “From what Laure said, that man could only be Theodule Gillenormand.”

“That is almost a certainty,” Enjolras deadpanned. The thought of that officer standing at the gate of his home was enough to make his stomach lurch, but he managed to keep a straight face as he regarded his wife. “Why would he send you any sort of present?”

“I don’t know, especially since I have not been kind to him at any time when I’ve run into him in the Marais or even on the street.”

“You mean he has been following you around?”

“We don’t live that far from the barracks on the Rue Babylone, but he does seem to be off patrol a great deal,” Eponine answered. She glanced at the bouquet and shook her head. “Red camellias, white clover flowers, and those lovely smelling gardenias. I’m not sure if I got the meanings right, but he’s an awful fool to leave them where anyone, even you could see them.”

“Unlike you or our dear siblings Azelma and Jehan, I am not well-versed in the ciphers that a bouquet is supposed to carry.”

“Red flowers always mean something passionate, and some say that clovers are to ask a person to think of you. Gardenias always mean secrets, though.”

“Nothing good then,” Enjolras concurred, trying to keep his voice level even as the implications of this veiled statement sank in. “Would you prefer to dispose of them immediately or send them back wilted?”

“The first. You know I have no use for flowers,” Eponine replied, now moving to his side. She met his eyes as she clasped one of his hands in both of hers, lightly running her fingers over his. “One thing I like about you is that you never gave me anything of that sort, Antoine.”

“What do you mean?”

“The things you’ve ever given me are more of the sort to stay. I’ve always preferred that.”

The familiar warm roughness of her scarred left hand meeting the calluses of his own right hand was enough to have Enjolras closing the distance between them, just so he could capture Eponine’s lips in a heated kiss. In this moment he could not quite find the words to express that trepidation within him, but that hardly mattered with the way that she was kissing him back hungrily, almost desperately. When the need for air became too great, Enjolras pulled away only to find that he had backed Eponine up against the kitchen table, while she had somehow managed to undo nearly all the buttons on his waistcoat. “You asked me yesterday about regrets. What about in your case?” he asked, lowering his voice.

“Not one bit, when it comes to us and everything we have together.” She smiled as she touched her now swollen lips. “It’s much better than anything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

Enjolras felt as if a weight had disappeared off his shoulders, especially with the earnestness in Eponine’s voice. “That observation is mutual,” he said as he brushed a stray strand of auburn hair out of her face, making her blush. Inasmuch as he could also feel his own ardor building from their mere proximity, the chatter of the youngsters in other parts of the house was enough to have him deciding against taking their rendezvous any further. Instead he lifted her right palm to his lips, seeing her eyes widen knowingly at this gesture. “Later then?”

Eponine nodded even as her cheeks reddened further. “We’d better be careful, but I know we’ll certainly _try_ not to set you back with that healing rib of yours,” she said more mischievously before looking to the still unfinished pots and pans stacked near them. “Now we’d better finish washing up all of this, or we’ll be late for lunch!”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face when he glanced at his watch and saw that the time was nearly ten in the morning. Even with working quickly to scrub and soak everything, it took them half an hour before they could set aside the clean cookware to dry, and begin getting the children washed, brushed and attired properly for the luncheon at the Prouvaires’ apartment near the Odeon.

As the Enjolras family arrived at the door of Prouvaire residence, they could hear even out on the street the sounds of revelry coming from the poet’s famed second floor apartment. “We were wondering were you were; Gavroche and Maximillien were on the point of setting out to fetch you all!” Azelma said by way of greeting as she let her relatives into her home.

“That would not have been necessary, but the sentiment is still appreciated,” Enjolras said, stepping aside to let Laure, Julien, and Etienne run to their cousin Maximillien and their uncle Gavroche, while Eponine greeted Azelma with a warm hug. He nodded to Jean Prouvaire, who was walking up to him. “Anyone else we are waiting for?”

“Just the Pontmercys and Bossuet,” Prouvaire said in an undertone. “Is there some trouble in the Marais that they have to settle?”

Before Enjolras could say anything to this, he saw Combeferre and Courfeyrac signing for him to join them at a small table where they were seated. He clasped Prouvaire’s arm to bring him over to this alcove. “What is afoot?” he asked as he found a chair.

“Seeing if we are discussing the same topic,” Combeferre said. “That is, our friend Pontmercy’s domestic troubles.”

“I was telling him of the problems with being their mediator,” Courfeyrac groaned. “I thought that doing this for friends, like in Feuilly’s case, was difficult enough. It is much worse when it is with a friend who is also in our tenacious profession.”

“The children have the most to suffer from all of it,” Prouvaire pointed out. “Have you appealed also to that?”

“Yes, but to no avail. I would have an easier time making myself immortal in the River Styx.” Courfeyrac shook his head as he looked to where Charlesette was helping Armand show off a playing card trick to most of the other party guests. “If it will help, I could take at least my own godson Georges for the day or the weekend just so his parents would have it out.”

The recollection of seeing little Marie-Fantine weeping and disheveled had Enjolras clenching his fist grimly before he looked at his friends. “Noble as that is, it would still result in the parents engaging in circular arguments for as long as Pontmercy refuses to see the facts of the situation,” he said. “As far as I know, no one has been successful in making him do so.”

“You think Eponine could do it?” Combeferre asked.

“She has tried before. I believe she was the first among us to attempt to do so.”

“Has she told him _all_ of the things that his potential uncle, her father, did?”

“Not in so many words,” Enjolras said, even as he now tried to recall a variety of interactions over the years that involved any mention of the Thenardier family’s lives before the barricade at the Rue de Chanvrerie. “If she wishes to reiterate it, that will be of her own volition.”

Combeferre sighed deeply, looking to where the children had rushed to play in another room. “Understandably, you will not ask her to make a clean breast or testimony of it, not even for her dearest friend’s sake?”

At that moment an outraged shout came from the corner where some of the women had been gossiping. “That’s too much, especially for her! You know she’d never leave him!” Therese Bahorel exclaimed. “Where did you get that idea, Chetta?”

“Simply because many women have left their husbands for less, or at least tried to,” Musichetta said sagely. “Cosette may have the sweetest nature, but even she has her limits.”

Enjolras caught Eponine’s eye from across the room and nodded to her almost imperceptibly. ‘ _There is a thing or two she will have to disabuse them of,’_ he decided before turning his attention back to Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Prouvaire. “If you must know, there has been a change in the tide,” he said, looking to Courfeyrac.

Courfeyrac’s jaw dropped for a moment before a bemused, almost approving smile spread across his face. “I always thought that Cosette was made of more steel than Marius was,” he said, miming raising a glass.

“Then I hear there is truth to this talk that Cosette has left their abode?” Bahorel chimed in, now pulling up a seat to their table.

Enjolras looked to where Bahorel had just been talking with Joly, Grantaire, and Feuilly; these three friends seemed to be immersed in ribbing each other on some other topic. “Where did you hear that?” he asked the detective in an undertone.

“A comrade who patrols the Rue Saint Honore said that he saw our fair Baronness move in with the children yesterday,” Bahorel explained. 

“That is true, but she expects Pontmercy to follow her there,” Enjolras corrected. “It is more accurately a change of domicile.”

“Even if one partner is absent?”

“That is a temporary state of affairs.”

Courfeyrac shrugged as he sat up straight in his chair. “As Enjolras and I have told Pontmercy before, moving out of the Marais is long overdue for him and his family. The Rue Saint Honore is much more convenient for his profession.”

“Yes, but there is his natural sentiment to consider, both for the house and his older relations,” Combeferre said.

“Sentiment, and not a sense of duty?” Feuilly asked, walking up now with Grantaire and Joly in tow.

“In his case they do not differ,” Enjolras muttered. Even after knowing the family all these years, he still could not imagine what about the Gillenormands could possibly inspire affection in Marius. “Regardless of the cause, the effect is the same.”

“Meaning that he has chosen not to go after his own wife,” Bahorel said, shaking his head. “A divorce without signing a bill for it.”

“Perhaps it is a temporary paroxysm of grief, on Cosette’s part,” Prouvaire suggested. “She just lost her father this year, and that may account for something.”

Combeferre cleared his throat, looking briefly to where now even some of the women, were also now listening with interest. “I do not mean to speak ill of the dead or smear Citizen Valjean’s memory, but he had his own part to play in this situation,” he said gravely. “It is natural for any father to want to protect his daughter from the cares and troubles of the world. Some would say it is the natural course of things for such paternal guardianship to be passed seamlessly from the father to the husband. Citizen Valjean made sure of it, but with such overlapping care from him and Pontmercy, there was no opportunity for Cosette to ever be mistress of her household or her own affairs outside of the charitable works she has practiced all her life.”

For a moment the entire room was quiet, with everyone looking at Combeferre as if he had suddenly grown two heads. “That is incredibly harsh, even from you,” Joly said, breaking the silence.

“I do believe it,” Claudine chimed in. “A woman can only live so long to please both her father and her husband, especially if they believe that their judgment suffices for themselves and for her as well. We have been trying all these years to get girls educated, and to have them seek more opportunities, but they still have to contend with these petty tyrannies that often accompany a marriage to a man who does not see her as an equal.”

“If equality between partners was to be a prerequisite for romance, we’d see a lot less of the latter,” Grantaire said dryly. “No more myths would be written if Zeus did not hold his throne higher than Hera’s garter.”

Enjolras frowned at this slightly crass analogy even as most of the rest of the company laughed. At that moment the apartment door opened, admitting Bossuet. “Is everything well, my friend?” he greeted.

“Well as the winds can bring me,” Bossuet said, fanning his face. He pulled in a figure who’d been standing next to him. “Look who else they have also blown in.”

Prouvaire got to his feet first and nodded to the other newcomer. “It is good to see you here, Marius Pontmercy. We were just about to begin lunch.”

Marius only nodded curtly to Prouvaire before walking past him to stand before Enjolras. “You have a lot of explaining to do,” Marius said slowly, his usually pale face now red with fury. “Was it your idea to break up me and my wife?”


	55. A Thenardier's Word Against Another's

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings here for discussion of child abuse and prostitution.

Almost immediately Eponine crossed the room, putting herself between Enjolras and Marius. “What sort of silly idea is this, Marius?” she asked, putting her hands akimbo. “If anything, he’s making sure you don’t do such a foolish thing to Cosette!”

“You helped her, I know,” Marius said, looking coldly at her even as Bossuet and Joly tried to pull him back. “You have been helping her find a house to stay in, away from me---”

“A house wherein your family will be safe!”

“Maybe it was _your_ plan after all, wasn’t it? You only waited years to carry it out!”

“Slander her one more time, Pontmercy, and I assure you that you will regret it,” Enjolras snapped. He put a hand on Eponine’s waist. “Leave him be. We’ll settle this,” he said in her ear.

Eponine shook her head. “It’s my fight too, Antoine,” she said to him in Occitan.

“Stop this, please. Maybe we can settle this before, or during lunch?” Azelma chimed in, crossing her arms. “Jehan and I invited you all here to celebrate our successful play, not to argue.”

“It is clear there has been some terrible misunderstanding,” Courfeyrac said, holding up a hand. “From what I understand, Marius, you believe that Cosette’s leaving was because of our friends here?”

“Don’t act like you are innocent in this, Courfeyrac,” Marius seethed. “If you three had not interfered, Cosette and the children would be at home with me, Grandfather, and Aunt. As things have always been.”

“I s’pose it was one of them who gave you that idea, since you never mentioned it before,” Eponine retorted. “Since your grandfather doesn’t concern himself much with your affairs unless they touch on his chamber, I can only think that such talk came from your aunt or even her fiancé.”

Marius scoffed as he put his hands in his coat pockets. “My aunt only wants what is best for our family.”

Courfeyrac snorted. “Marius, the only reason your halfway sainted aunt ever liked or even just tolerated Cosette was because of her inheritance. Other than that, she would have gladly joined your grandfather in his bigotry.”

“Oh she had many years to say such a thing, but the only fact that’s changed is that now she’s engaged to a scoundrel who has nothing but envy for Cosette, and hatred for his own. Of course, he’d put a thing or two in her ear, since he will not say it to Marius himself” Eponine retorted. It was all she could do not to chuckle when Marius went pale at these words. “Besides it’s awfully silly of you to think that Antoine would want to break up _your_ marriage. It does not make a single bit of sense!”

Marius gaped at her and then at Enjolras. “You never approved of her,” he said.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “I disapproved of your being distracted, but never said anything about your wife. I would even say that she is mainly responsible for your improvement these years.”

“Very much so,” Bossuet concurred. “Made you much less insufferable, really.”

“Less of a weathervane and more of a demigod, really,” Grantaire muttered.

“Some friends you are,” Marius muttered before looking at Eponine again. “As for you, I know there was a time you didn’t want me and Cosette together.”

“Yes, at a time when I was a silly girl, and you were a foolish boy loving a woman.” The sheer absurdity of this situation had Eponine biting her lip in a half-hearted attempt to stifle a laugh. “Now, all the more I am sure you have been talking with Citizen Thenardier!”

“A man whose word cannot be trusted,” Bahorel muttered. “Pontmercy, you should have known better.”

“It was not him I talked to. The man would never dare,” Marius said haughtily. “I am only telling you what my aunt said.”

“These things she would not have known if her _lover_ had not told her,” Feuilly pointed out, his face screwing up with disgust. “To be honest, you have no business being here, Pontmercy. The sensible thing to do would be to decamp, go to your new home and beg your wife’s forgiveness.”

“What, go to the Rue Saint-Honore?”

Joly sputtered and looked at Marius incredulously. “Where else?”

“You should, Marius. She did get it for both of you,” Eponine said, looking at the beleaguered lawyer. “Now that I think about it, it is the first place that Cosette could really call her home. Home was not the inn where we grew up. The Rue Plumet was lovely but that was because her father had leased it. And we all know what life in the Marais is like.”

Marius shook his head. “We were happy where we were. My aunt and my grandfather are all I have left of family. Your father is still alive, you would not understand.”

“He may as well be dead to me, as dead as my mother in the common grave of Pere Lachaise,” Eponine pointed out. She took a deep breath even as she felt her unborn child kick, prompting her to place a hand on her stomach by way of reassurance. “Cosette might not remember all of it, which is why she wouldn’t tell you everything. Azelma was younger than us, more so Gavroche. And Cosette’s father only saw the end of it.”

“The end of it?” Musichetta asked worriedly.

“How things were at the inn,” Eponine said, glancing knowingly at Gavroche, who had just emerged from the next room, and then at Azelma, Jehan and Enjolras. ‘ _But I’m the only one here who can really remember it all from start to end,’_ she thought as she looked at Marius again. “Cosette and I regard each other as sisters now, but it was not always that way. My parents made sure of that. Yes, we weren’t rich, and we needed money, but that was no excuse to treat her like the servant of everyone even when she was even younger than our daughters are now. With everything that her mother sent, she should have been given better clothes and finer food, but that never happened, did it?”

“That was all in the past,” Marius pointed out.

“And yet my father is still alive,” Eponine said, feeling her gut twist at these words. “I would sit by when he would make demands for Cosette to do this and that for the patrons, and he would yell at her if she was too slow. Azelma and I were not allowed to say anything nice to her or even give her anything to eat or drink. More often he had my mother beat her. If my mother was not happy about something, she’d tell my father, who’d simply say to beat Cosette more.

“He wouldn’t dare do that these days, with his age.”

“There are other ways to hurt people that don’t involve boots or a leather strap,” Eponine continued. She risked a glance at Gavroche, who merely shrugged, and then at Azelma, who’d taken a seat while clasping Prouvaire’s hand tightly. “It didn’t get better when Cosette was rescued from the inn, I tell you that.”

“You knew it was wrong, but you did nothing. That makes you as bad as he was.”

“I knew only what I was told those days. You yourself are one to say so; you didn’t think it was wrong to ignore your father till it was too late,” Eponine pointed out, making Marius blanch even as most of the rest of the group exchanged winces or knowing looks. “I didn’t start asking myself what was so wrong about it all till we were well away from the inn and were already here in Paris. And I made up my mind to never ever marry someone who’d do those things to any child. By the time I got around to thinking of that, my father’s schemes had failed. Instead of doing honest work as a man his age still could have done, he had me and my sister dress up in rags to beg---and in winter! And when that did not work, he sold what was not his to sell.”

Nicholine Grantaire shuddered visibly at this. “Eponine, you need not say anymore,” she whispered. “Please don’t.”

“I may as well, since his aunt has said something awful to me too about it. You can stop up your ears if you like, but Citizen the Baron here has to know or remember it,” Eponine said before looking at Marius again even as she willed her hands not to shake. “The day I met you, Marius, I s’pose he expected me to have to do with you. I was lucky you were a shy gentleman then and would not do such a thing even to one such as me. I was not so lucky before with other men when I was sent out to beg or give those horrible letters. Any other father would have fought tooth and nail to protect his daughters, mine never did. And that was why I envied Cosette so greatly because she had what I knew everyone should have had.”

“Was that a reason to try to separate us, and also attempt to get yourself killed?” Marius asked acidly.

Eponine saw Enjolras’ face turn livid at this, but she gestured for him to stay quiet. “You’re right. What I did was terrible, and I’ve apologized for it time and again. Maybe you can let Citizen Thenardier know I did my best to atone for it. Then you can also remind him of how he did not ask for me or Gavroche after all the fighting was done. The next I heard of him, he had gotten your father-in-law in prison again, where he very nearly died of it. The rest of his terrible things after, I might be able to forgive, but I will not forget how he almost got Gavroche killed two years ago. Everyone here knows the story of _that_ , but even before it, I made up my mind that he would not have any claim on my family or any claim on me. I am more than simply the daughter of a man named Thenardier, and I always will be.”

Marius was silent even as he looked with amazement at Enjolras and Prouvaire. “You two knew all of this and have said nothing all these years?”

Prouvaire nodded. “It isn’t my story to tell, so no,” he added, confirming this by squeezing Azelma’s hand.

“Not in so many words, but yes,” Enjolras deadpanned. “You didn’t?”

“Cosette never spoke much about Montfermeil, and I assume she’d forgotten about it or forgiven it entirely,” Marius muttered, now taking a seat.

“Oftentimes the mind must heal itself from such trauma by blocking out such memories,” Combeferre pointed out. “The very fact she is able to even speak of it is a good thing, and I suggest you do not take it lightly, Pontmercy.”

“I don’t blame her for forgetting. I wouldn’t want to remember either,” Azelma observed. “What little I also recall is just as bad as what Ponine said.”

‘ _There are things I’ve forgotten too, except maybe in nightmares,’_ Eponine thought even as she nodded at her sister gratefully. “I don’t know what your aunt’s fiancé told her, and I honestly do not care to find out since nothing will change her mind. She is that far gone. I have told you my story, and I s’pose it’s up to you to figure out who you believe.”

Marius was quiet for a few moments even as his face slowly darkened with remorse. He wiped his now sweaty brow before looking sadly at Prouvaire and Azelma. “I’ll visit again some other time. I am…needed elsewhere.” He smoothed out his coat and cuffs and then held out a hand to Courfeyrac. “I am sorry for dragging you into this,” he said. “You too, Enjolras.”

Enjolras nodded firmly. “Forgiven, but it is not to me you owe your apology.”

Courfeyrac sighed before shaking Marius’ hand. “You’re a great fool, Marius, but you can repent of that. Will you need any of us to accompany you to the Rue Saint-Honore?”

“No. I must go alone. You understand.”

“Let me walk you to the door, at least,” Prouvaire offered even as he helped Azelma to her feet. “Get started on lunch, but save me some cake!”

“You’d better be back before dessert, Jehan!” Azelma called laughingly even as Prouvaire now went with Marius to the apartment door. She dusted off her hands and motioned for everyone to find their seats even as Gavroche now let the children out of the next room. “Now let’s hope that our food did not get too cold!”

In the meantime Claudine shook her head as she looked to where Marius was leaving, and then at Eponine. “I realized he didn’t apologize to you,” she remarked.

“Oh he won’t. It’s not his way, really,” Eponine said with a shrug as she found a chair. “Cosette will make him do better, in some other way.”

“Maybe she can make him work on _that_ too,” Charlesette said with distaste from her seat. “But all of that you told everyone… I don’t know how you could bear it, or even speak of it,” she added, looking at Eponine.

“Someone had to let everyone know, and I s’pose I’m the best one to talk about it,” Eponine said, glancing down at her hands, which no longer trembled. ‘ _How is it possible to feel so light and yet so tired?’_ she wondered even as she looked at Enjolras, who was eyeing her with a worried expression from his chair next to hers. “I’m fine, Antoine. I’ll feel better after having eaten a bit.”

“Indeed.” He discreetly reached for her hand and clasped it. “That was the bravest thing I’ve seen in a while, Eponine.”

“Coming from you? That’s really something,” Eponine whispered in his ear, if only to hide the blush rising to her cheeks.


	56. Equilibrium Reestablished

Although Mondays were generally not looked forward to by most Parisians returning to work, Enjolras felt only relief on greeting the morning of the 24th of October, the day he would return to the Palais de Justice. “All the same, I should be home a little earlier this afternoon. I do not have any hearings lined up till later in the week,” he informed Eponine as they were both in the study, readying for the day’s work after almost all the children had left for school.

“I hope you mean while there is a bit of sun,” Eponine quipped as she sat at her translating desk. She sighed as she smoothed down her dress, which was bunching around her middle. “I’ll have to let this out soon, maybe even get a few new things by Christmas. If we can manage it since the children will need clothes for winter too,” she whispered worriedly.

‘ _More reason to get that primer published on schedule,’_ Enjolras thought, glancing to where he had left his satchel that held the drafted chapters he was set to show that day to Lamarre. It was all he could do either not to look down at his own cuffs, which Eponine had resewn multiple times over the years. For now, he sat by Eponine’s chair and brought a hand up to run over the back of her neck till he felt her relax a little. “We’ll manage. We’ve dealt with some limitations before,” he said as he took her hand.

“Yes, but it’s a little different with all the children here, our friends who need help now and then, and of course this one,” Eponine said, bringing his hand to the swell of her belly. “I think she moves a lot more when we’re talking.”

Enjolras smiled as he felt that now familiar kicking under his hand, a little stronger than it had been just days before. “Have you got a name picked out now?”

“I was thinking it should be your turn. I named Julien and Etienne, but you got to name Laure,” Eponine replied, reaching up to wind his hair around her fingers. “I’m sure you’ll pick a lovely name for this little girl.”

“Eponine, how sure are you that we are having another daughter? Apart from dreaming about her, as you’ve said before.”

“I just know. It’s not just because I’m carrying her, I s’pose. I do sometimes know a thing before it happens.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Enjolras said before kissing her briefly. He pulled away just as he heard little Etienne toddling into the study. “What have you got there, _petit_?” he asked, seeing that the boy had a paper in his hand.

Etienne grinned up at his parents. “Mail!”

“Why yes, you’re right about that,” Eponine crooned, letting the child hand over the missive. “It’s from Aix, in your father’s handwriting.”

‘ _A long overdue one,’_ Enjolras thought, allowing himself a glance at his watch even as Eponine quickly opened the letter while Etienne sat to play in a corner of the room.

_October 20, 1842_

_Dear Antoine and Eponine,_

_I apologize for having written back so late to your missives dated around the 9 th of this month. Owing to some effects of drought, the harvest has been affected a little, and adjustments have had to be made for the sake of the tenants. You need not worry, since there is just enough for all to be comfortable till the winter crop of wheat is ready for reaping. _

_Over here in Aix, we are doing just fine being removed from the affairs of the ports of Marseille and Toulon. Down by the coast and closer to the Spanish border, there is some tension owing to the influx of refugees fleeing there and being billeted till they should proceed to other parts of France or proceed to Italy and other parts of the Mediterranean. The coastal towns have different views regarding sustaining the accommodations of so many newcomers, especially since the Home Office has directed that they be treated with dignity. I can tell that you, Antoine, have had a hand in this, and I commend the spirit of it even if the practicality of having temporary lodgings is sometimes questioned. One can only consider themselves lucky that the latter months of the year are not inclement in Provence, and the danger of running afoul of the usual cold weather diseases is not as great as it would be in higher latitudes._

_Since we are to be in Paris this Christmas, Monique insists that we have Christmas dinner as we did in Aix, down to the Great Supper and the Thirteen Desserts. I understand that your family and friends do things differently with one household out of your ten or so hosting the dinner for all. It is an economical idea, I agree, but for the sake of peace I ask you to consider this indulgence. However, I will leave it to you both to decide best how to arrange matters._

_Please send all my greetings to Neville, Jacques, Laure, Julien, Etienne, as well as everyone else there._

_Sincerely,_

_Your father Louis_

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this message, more so when he saw Eponine laughing out loud. “Shall we tell him that we _are_ the ones hosting dinner this year for everyone, and that you intended to have it as it was the last time we hosted nine years ago?” he deadpanned.

Eponine nodded gleefully. “Oh, won’t he be surprised to find all of that and more here!” she giggled. She smoothed the letter out on her desk and then looked at her husband. “It won’t be exactly the same since there are many more of us now than there were sitting here for our first Christmas Eve dinner. I also s’pose we should extend the invitation to Ariadne, the Calamys, and even the de Polignacs at the very least. For all of them it will be their first Christmas here in France. I’d like to show the English that it can be a merry occasion since it’s so dour there in London, and I know that the Spanish will be missing their home.”

Enjolras smirked, already imagining the crowd that would certainly fill their home for this occasion. “You will need help, as the kitchen is not equipped for feeding a hungry army.”

“Of course, which is why I’ll be asking everyone if they can bring at least one thing or two to the supper. And since my brothers liked both black and white nougat so much, maybe your parents can bring that if they ask about it,” Eponine suggested. “It won’t be _exactly_ Provencal since everyone else likes a little meat and not just fish and vegetables during Christmas, and we’ll probably end up with more than thirteen desserts.”

Enjolras glanced over his shoulder towards Etienne, who’d fallen silent at the mention of dessert. “A good many of the party will not object to that,” he said to Eponine in Occitan.

“If they had their way, they’d have all desserts and nothing else,” Eponine quipped. She glanced at her own watch, which she’d set out to one side of her papers. “You’d better hurry now, Antoine. I think I’ve kept you too long to catch the omnibus.”

“It’s a good day for a walk,” Enjolras said, earning him a knowing eye-roll from Eponine before he kissed her hand and got to his feet. As he gathered up his satchel and his coat, he saw Etienne now watching him seriously. “I have to go to work today, at the office, Tienne.”

Etienne shook his head. “Papa, stay!”

“Not today,” Enjolras said firmly. He raised an eyebrow when the toddler began to pout. “I’ll be back later, so you have to be good for your Maman till then,” he added, bending to straighten out the boy’s hair and clothes. Much to his relief, this action did not cause any pain or discomfort, thus allowing him to breathe more easily when he straightened up. As quickly as he could he donned his coat and his hat, and then left the house.

When Enjolras arrived at the Palais de Justice, he found his office almost the way he’d left it, save for the folios and papers that his colleagues had brought to the Rue Guisarde for him to work on during his recovery. After he set down his satchel, he opened the room’s window to air out the well-worn odors of old paper and leather binding. Almost as soon as he sat down to work, he heard a knock on the door. “The door is unlocked,” he called.

“Ah, so it is true that you’d be back here today,” Lamarre called as he entered the office, with LeClerc in tow. “You look very much recovered.”

“Sans the superlative, you are right,” Enjolras said, glancing down at his hands. ‘ _I should try to get some canne practice in,’_ he thought, realizing now that it had been more than a month since he’d engaged in this form of exercise. “We must meet soon about the primer. Tomorrow would be a good day,” he said, bringing out his manuscript from his satchel.

LeClerc nodded. “The sooner the better; we can begin the edits this week, and then everyone can do their revisions incorporating your comments by the first week of November.”

Lamarre frowned at this. “If that is our timeframe, then I can only do so much to finish my part of it,” he said, looking at Enjolras. “With Sardou still recovering, I have had my hands full with the refugees and all the complaints coming from the border towns. It does not help that the Spanish consulate is keeping its lips sealed on the issue.”

“Meaning that even at this point they will not render any assistance?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow. “That is a breach of duty on their part.” 

Lamarre shook his head. “They are awaiting further instructions from Madrid. It would be easier if we had an envoy there now, but I have not been given the power to appoint one.”

“Even if you could, who would you consider qualified?” LeClerc muttered.

“Whoever passes the vetting,” Lamarre retorted. He flipped through the manuscript that Enjolras had handed him before sighing deeply. “I know that Sardou viewed the issue of refugees rather differently from you, Enjolras,” he began. “I am more in agreement with you, my friend, but to give these refugees the care we need is taxing the Home Office’s resources severely. We may need to ask for an extra budget allocation from the legislature.”

“A legislature that may be less inclined to uphold the rights of strangers, especially in light of recent events,” LeClerc pointed out. “Who else can we appeal to?”

“Other groups with a civic interest; there are local clubs even in the Midi. Then there are always the churches and parishes. It must not be mandatory, but each entity should be enjoined to give only what they can,” Enjolras said. “Especially since this appears to be a drought year.”

“There is that too. Would that France had a thousand philanthropists,” Lamarre said, shaking his head ruefully. “The only factor working in our favor is that investigation has cleared the Basque refugees, at least those here in Paris, of any ties to destabilization efforts. Similar investigations in the south have also been forthcoming.”

“That is a beginning,” Enjolras concurred. “If there is anything---”

“As I said, your work should be focused on the primer; I’ll put my input down today and show it to you tomorrow. In the meantime I’ll handle the refugee problem,” Lamarre said firmly. “If there is any help I need from you, I’ll let you know.”

“Which will happen soon,” LeClerc muttered conspiratorially to Enjolras. “Probably at the meeting tomorrow.”

‘ _He’s going to try to get the other diplomats’ input on the matter and maybe prevail over him on this course of action,’_ Enjolras realized even as the two attaches took their leave. After this he set about to answering some correspondence and drafting new case briefs, until he heard a knock on the door. He raised an eyebrow, recognizing the halting sound of this greeting. “Come in, Pontmercy,” he called, setting aside what he had been writing.

Marius peered in for a moment before opening the door more widely. “Is this a good time, Enjolras?” he asked. Gone was the furious, almost blustering manner of the day before, and once again Marius had resumed his more serious and affable mien. He quickly closed the door, taking a deep breath as he did so. “You were right about yesterday,” he said at length.

“Your wife was waiting for you at the Rue Saint-Honore,” Enjolras said, looking Marius in the eye as he took a seat.

“Not just that, but about everything,” Marius confessed, looking down for a moment. “Cosette confirmed nearly everything that Eponine said, at least the things about their years together in Montfermeil. I waited for my aunt to leave the house for a service before I gathered my things, said goodbye to Grandfather, and moved to be with Cosette and the children.”

“That is good.”

“It still puzzles me. How is it that you knew of everything that Eponine said?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Are you asking why my spouse takes me into her confidence?”

The younger man reddened slightly. “I had thought that Cosette and I shared so many things together, and the truth is we do: four children, a business, charity work, and all the years, joys and tears in between. A lot of that was also shared too with her father and my own family. Whenever something happened, even if it was a fight, there was always someone to smooth things over. Her father was very good at that.”

‘ _It is just as Combeferre observed,’_ Enjolras thought. “It took a change of address for you to realize all of that?”

Marius nodded. “You’ve had Eponine in your life for about the same time that Cosette has been in mine. I feel though that for some reason, you know more of her than I know of my own wife. You were not always like this, Enjolras.”

“Indeed. But if you recall, when Eponine and I first met, it was in untoward times, and our being acquainted led to being friends before anything else,” Enjolras pointed out. “From what I recall though of that particular year, you always had ideals and intentions where Cosette was concerned.”

“Where did you hear of that?”

“Courfeyrac did not keep that, or your dissipation, a secret.”

Marius’ cheeks flooded scarlet. “It was also wrong of me to bring up the past, where Eponine was concerned. I know that she has long gotten over that childish infatuation with me. Anyone can see it from the way she looks at you.”

For a moment Enjolras recalled once more the unexpected bouquet from Theodule Gillenormand, but he pushed this thought out of his mind before looking at Marius more seriously. “She is at the Rue Guisarde today. You should apologize directly to her.”

“How would she take it?”

“It would be greatly appreciated.”

“I will extend also an apology on behalf of my aunt. She shouldn’t have said those things to try to taint my view of matters, but she will never apologize to Eponine, especially considering how things are with Citizen Thenardier,” Marius said, now getting to his feet. “Once matters are settled, you all should visit at the Rue Saint-Honore.”

“We will wait for Cosette to extend that invitation,” Enjolras said, nodding to Marius before the latter left the room. ‘ _Best to leave them to settle matters for a little longer first before they rejoin the fray,’_ he decided as he returned to work.


	57. An Answer to Diamonds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is NSFW.

_October 29, 1842_

_75 Rue Richelieu_

_Dear Se_ _ñ_ _ora Eponine Enjolras,_

 _I hope you will be happy to find that I am writing from our new address here in Paris. Everyone else in our household is doing well, and I have not seen Audric so happy before. Once more, I must thank you and Se_ _ñ_ _or Enjolras, as well as Se_ _ñ_ _ors Combeferre, Feuilly and even Lamarre for all the help you have given us so far._

_I heard that you were investigating something to do with jewelry, specifically finding out who’s selling fake things. It’s horrible, and I am glad you’re trying to do something about it. I’m sending along a bead that my cousin Imelda found among some things a jade of a vendor tried to sell to us. I wonder what you’d think of it since it’s clearly a way to cheat someone._

_If you are not occupied, may we call on you tomorrow morning just before lunch? I want to tell you the story of it in person._

_Your friend,_

_Se_ _ñ_ _ora Clarita de Polignac_

This missive in a flowing hand came wrapped around a single lozenge-shaped bead covered with a heavy but readily chipped black varnish. ‘ _Just like those in the Rue d’Aligre,’_ Eponine thought grimly as she set the bead aside next to her inkwell after penning her reply in the affirmative to the request. “In England it would be considered odd to call on someone in the morning unless it is for business or one’s intimate friends,” she remarked to Enjolras, who was working at the desk next to hers. It was after lunch, and the house was quiet with most of the children either playing upstairs or having a nap. “I’m glad that in here in France we don’t bother too much about the hour, as long as it is neither too late nor too early.”

“Not to mention that the Spanish also observe a _siesta_. Also, if they were coming today, we’d be pressed for time since we are expected elsewhere this evening,” Enjolras pointed out, looking up from the sheafs of paper he was editing. “What time did Citizenness de Polignac say she’d call tomorrow?”

“Just before lunch,” Eponine said, glancing at the message once more and then at her pocket watch. ‘ _This gives us about two hours or three if we go to church earlier than usual,’_ she decided as she picked up her pen to resume recopying a pamphlet that she’d spent most of the week translating. After a time, she saw Enjolras set down his pen as he cursed under his breath. “Something wrong, Antoine?” she asked.

“False friends,” Enjolras answered, gesturing to the paragraph he had been working on before he reached for one of the folios that he kept to one side of his desk. “Some legal terms from other languages are better left as they are, instead of being rendered into ours.”

Eponine winced but knew better than to look at the troublesome phrase. “I s’pose now you know how it goes for me sometimes at work,” she whispered as she got to her feet and stood behind his chair to begin running her hand through his hair to soothe him, before moving down to rub the knots out of his neck and shoulders. After a few moments she felt his breathing grow easier as he leaned into her hands and relaxed. “Is that better?”

Enjolras opened his eyes and then reached for her right palm to kiss it. “Then who does that for you when I am at the Palais de Justice or elsewhere?”

“I manage,” Eponine replied, feeling her own smile grow wider at the knowing, almost teasing look he was giving her. “Why, what are you going to do about it?”

Before Enjolras could say anything to this, he glanced out towards the window and raised an eyebrow. “Someone is at the gate,” he muttered as he got to his feet and left the study. He returned a few moments later carrying what appeared to be a large velvet box. “This was sent for you by a courier,” he said sternly as he set the package down on Eponine’s desk.

‘ _This cannot be happening,’_ Eponine thought, biting her lip even as she already divined who the sender was. Her hands shook as she opened the casket before her, all the while aware of Enjolras watching her every move. “That Theodule Gillenormand has gone too far this time,” she breathed as she took in the sight of a necklace made of seven strings of brilliant diamonds that flashed a myriad of colors in the sunlight.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow humorlessly at this lavish offering. “It is something that is permanent,” he said, his voice suddenly taut as he looked away. “Something you like.”

Eponine quickly shut the case and pushed it aside. “It’s not from you.” She reached for his hands, only to find them clenched into fists. “Antoine, look at me.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he looked at her. His eyes were dark with a lost, almost stricken expression that Eponine had rarely seen on him. “Is _this_ really enough for you?”

“You know I’ve never asked you for jewels or any trinkets,” she pointed out.

“I know, but that does not mean you deserve any less,” he said thickly, getting to his feet and going to the window. He leaned against the sill, clearly trying to compose his thoughts before he spoke again. “Eponine, I promised you a respectable life, but that does not necessarily mean it has to be so severe, especially if you desire some more comforts or amusements than I can give.”

“If I asked for that, what would that do to _you_?” Eponine bit her lip as she went to his side once more and touched his arm, feeling him stiffen under her hand. Just looking at him was enough to send a lump in her throat; it was not every day that she saw him looking so despondent or almost at a loss for words. “You’d take cases just for the money even if you don’t believe in them, instead of actually helping people as you do. You wouldn’t be home for the boys and Laure. If you kept asking your parents for money, you’d eventually have your good name ruined, and I know you would never stand for that. And that would make me no better than those ladies who demand that their husbands give them all the finest clothes and trinkets just to show off.”

“As it is, we sometimes cannot even afford to get necessary things for ourselves. You’ve repaired my coats and darned your dresses more times than I can count.”

“And just as you said, we’ll manage, as we have before.”

He took a deep breath before looking at her silently, as if searching her face. “Perhaps I have been too stubborn with my principles.”

“You wouldn’t be yourself if you differed with that,” she said, reaching up to touch her forehead to his before she kissed his right temple. She felt his breath catch as she brushed her lips over his cheek and then down to his jaw. “I don’t care if anyone else can give me a thousand pretty things. I don’t want any of that,” she whispered, raising her head to look at him properly. 

Enjolras brought up his hands to cradle her face before he captured her lips with his, kissing her slowly in that way that always had her feeling hot all over. “Then what is it you want?” he asked in a low voice as he pulled away.

In response, Eponine simply kissed him back while she draped her arms around his shoulders. Now there was no more need to find any words, not when she was now in his arms as they continued to kiss more passionately, eager for the taste and feel of each other. After a few minutes, she felt him lift her up and cradle her body close to his as he stood up straight. “We don’t have to go upstairs,” she whispered mischievously against his neck.

“That was part of the plan,” Enjolras said as he carried her to the chaise and set her down before he locked the study door. He knelt before her and looked her in the face. “Allow me?”

“Please,” Eponine whispered, already feeling a knot of anticipation in her stomach just from the warmth of his hands now moving up from her knees to part her thighs. She pulled up her dress swiftly, giving her a perfect view of his face and his keen gaze wandering over her body just seconds before he brought his lips to her center. She whimpered at the jolt of pleasure that coursed through her body even as she felt herself growing wet between her legs. Despite all her efforts to stay quiet, all she could do was moan his name when his mouth went for that sensitive nub at her core, teasing her very ably with his tongue. One of her hands grabbed at the side of the chaise to steady herself even as the other reached for his hair, tugging sharply when she felt him suck lightly at her slit. “Antoine!”

Enjolras smirked as he met her eyes again. “Tell me what you want.”

Eponine gasped as she tried to find the words to beg; it was all she could do not to simply give in and let him pleasure her as he wished, till she felt the urgency of his grip on her thighs. “Not yet,” she said shakily, propping herself up on her elbows and then sitting up.

“Are you sure?” he asked, eyeing her confusedly.

“Yes,” she said, getting to her feet on shaky legs. She then gently pushed her husband onto the chaise and quickly straddled his hips before bending to give him a long, slow kiss. “I want you with me,” she whispered as she began running her hands over his shoulders and chest.

Enjolras shut his eyes for a moment before he pulled her down again for another kiss, rougher and more insistent than before. This was all the impetus that Eponine needed to reach down between them, towards the hardness she could feel through his trousers and now pressing against her thigh. She deftly unbuttoned his trousers, relishing his groan of relief when his erection was finally free of its constraints. “You’re beautiful, Eponine,” he whispered against her neck.

The earnestness in his voice had her tearing up as she kissed his brow. “Even now?”

He nodded as he brushed away a tear that threatened to slide down her cheek. “Especially.”

Eponine nodded as she shifted to take him in, shutting her eyes with pleasure at the feeling of him filling her. She clasped his hands as he met her eyes intently before he thrust up into her, tearing a moan from her lips. She leaned forward to kiss him tenderly as she ground her hips against his, letting him match her movements gently while one of his hands slipped down to caress her center, making her squirm and cry out with ecstasy as they picked up their pace. “Antoine, I----” she whimpered as her body clenched abruptly around him.

Enjolras breathed shallowly, clearly holding back from his own release. “With me. Like you want,” he said raggedly in her ear. “Stay with me, Eponine.”

The very sound of his voice was enough to finally send Eponine over the edge, crying out for him even as he groaned her name incoherently with his own climax. She rested her head on his chest. while his arms wrapped around her back tightly as if to keep her there with him on the chaise, both of them trembling from their release. “You know I’m not going anywhere,” she murmured at last, moving her cheek to rest over where she could feel his heart beating in time with hers.

Enjolras nodded before brushing his lips over the top of her head and burying his nose in her hair for a few moments. His smile was one of relief when at last he raised her chin so he could see her face. “You’ve always had such courage, Eponine. It is truly something to behold,” he said, lifting her knuckles to his lips.

“Only because I’ve learned from the best,” Eponine said, smiling at last to see the light in his eyes once more.


	58. A Decision That Is You

Even if Enjolras and Eponine had heard a great deal over the previous week about the Pontmercys’ new home on the Rue Saint-Honore, it was a different thing entirely to find themselves at the doorstep of this much more modest residence. “At least it looks much easier to keep warm in winter,” Eponine quipped as she took in the sight of the low but wide two-storey house with windows draped in fresh blue damask. “It looks a little like Cosette’s old home at the Rue Plumet.”

“But less secretive. I doubt there is a hidden entrance out to the alleyway with this one,” Enjolras remarked, recalling a tale or two about this dwelling in his friends’ reminiscing of more youthful days. “Having a party to celebrate a new home---a housewarming---is a little superfluous.”

“The reason we did not have one was because the first time we welcomed everyone to the Rue Guisarde was our wedding reception.”

“Which was the most fitting way to commence matters.”

Eponine laughed as she slipped her gloved hand into Enjolras’ own. “It did spare us the trouble of having two parties in the same week or month,” she quipped as they went to the front door. She knocked twice before looking at her husband once again. “I’ll always remember that night. That was the first time I saw you smile just so, for me.”

Enjolras only squeezed Eponine’s hand, even as her words brought up recollections of their passionate encounter earlier in the day. As the front door opened, he nodded warmly at the man on the other side. “It is good to see you here, Pontmercy.”

“As it is for me to be here. You made it possible, Enjolras,” Marius said, showing the couple in. He nodded to Eponine graciously. “You too especially, Eponine. You restored my wife’s happiness, and good cheer to our home.”

“Cosette is a sister to me. It was the least I could do,” Eponine replied, shrugging off the pelisse she wore over her red dress, which elegantly showed off her growing belly. “And where is she, and your children?”

“Here she is!” Cosette greeted from the stairway. All traces of care and trouble had disappeared from the Baronness’ face, making her appear nothing less than radiant in her airy gown of lace and light pink muslin. Standing with her was her older daughter Marie-Fantine, who was also in a new pink dress that was a copy of her mother’s. “Go on, greet your uncle and your godmother,” Cosette whispered to the girl.

Marie-Fantine looked up at Cosette innocently. “But Maman, don’t you want to be first?”

“My dear girl,” Cosette said, kissing her daughter’s head before walking the rest of the way down the stairs just to embrace Eponine. “Thank you for this, Eponine. I understand now why you and Enjolras were so eager to have your own home with the boys,” she said, smiling at her friend and then at the men.

“It’s incomparable, isn’t it?” Eponine gushed, stopping to also hug her goddaughter before looking around the brightly illuminated front hall. “I want to see what you’ve done to this place!”

“While my wife shows off the rest of our abode, let’s retire to my new study,” Marius offered, motioning for Enjolras to follow him to a side room. The younger lawyer smiled wryly as he entered a room lined with shelves that were only half-filled with books. “Much of the library at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire was my grandfather’s. Cosette brought here what belonged to her and her father, and I simply took along what rightfully belonged to me or my profession,” he said as he took a seat near the window.

Enjolras nodded understandingly. “How are your children adjusting?”

“I think they are holding up better than I am. A new change always does the four of them much good. Cosette is thrilled that for once she can run things on _our_ schedule.”

“I see. How did your other relatives receive your decision to move?”

“My grandfather was not pleased, but he said that building one’s nest is the natural course of things---before exacting a promise out of me to visit often. Cosette and I will decide when the children may also come along.” Marius hung his head pensively. “My aunt is in high dudgeon about it, even if it makes matters easier for her. As it is, the only relative of mine who is invited to this housewarming is my cousin Theodule Gillenormand.”

Enjolras clenched his fist at the thought of encountering this officer so soon after his tumultuous afternoon. “He is at least civil,” he managed to say even as a solid knock sounded on the study door. “That can only be Courfeyrac,” he observed, recognizing this sound even before Marius got up from his seat.

“I congratulate you on the beginnings of your domesticity, Marius,” Courfeyrac greeted. The newcomer was a little red in the face from the crisp air of early evening as he doffed his hat and unwound the thick woolen scarf he had tied over his cravat and coat. “This library definitely has room for expansion, along with your aspirations!”

Marius smiled as he clasped his friend’s arms. “I heard you have good news afoot?”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face as Courfeyrac’s expression turned sheepish. “Perhaps not yet?” he deadpanned.

Courfeyrac sighed dramatically as he found a seat. “Everything will be in order soon, but I still have to find the best means to ask her,” he said. He looked imploringly at Marius. “How did you propose to Cosette?”

“I was convalescing then, so there was not much pomp to it. I might have still been lying in bed or sitting up,” Marius blustered. “I did think of asking her, and planned to, back when she was still living at the Rue Plumet.”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes despairingly. “Doesn’t any one of us have a worthy proposal story that does not involve a bedroom, a kitchen, or not even exactly asking the question?”

“What about Joly?” Marius asked. “I heard he did make a good effort.”

“Musichetta turned him down, then reconsidered after we all nearly got blown to bits at that political rally in Notre Dame. So no,” Courfeyrac said, shaking his head.

“Combeferre?”

“Claudine proposed _to_ him.”

‘ _The very same thing will happen with Courfeyrac if he drags matters out long enough,’_ Enjolras thought with a smirk. “You have to resolve this sooner than later, my friend,” he said.

“Never had I thought I would be so eager to bid farewell to the bachelor state,” Courfeyrac laughed, looking towards the sounds of greetings and laughter from the front rooms. “I shall ask Prouvaire to help me with the verses or some gesture. For now, let us not be strangers to the rest of the company.”

Marius nodded as he got to his feet. “Cosette should have dinner ready soon; it’s simpler than what we have served before, if you do not mind?” he asked his friends.

“We will never disparage your hospitality, Pontmercy,” Enjolras reassured him as they quit the study. In a matter of minutes, the front hall and the sitting room had been filled up with their friends as well as a few acquaintances and colleagues from the Palais de Justice. Owing to all the greetings and good tidings, it took Enjolras a few minutes till he at last located Eponine, Combeferre, and Claudine in the middle of an eager discussion near the stairway. “Something new afoot?” he asked them by way of greeting.

“Discussing how diplomacy may be meshed with science,” Combeferre said affably. “A continuation of the whole British debacle.”

“Admittedly their academic work was more celebrated than all the attempts to reach the House of Lords and even the Queen,” Eponine explained. “Talking to those swells and nobles is good, but I s’pose having excellent lecturers is one better way to get France to be known for other things besides fashion and revolution!”

“In short, burnishing the French reputation,” Enjolras said. “It would cement the country’s place as a beacon of progress,” he added, nodding to Combeferre.

“That is greatly to be wished,” the physician said.

“Until of course we propose having the first female French academics give a lecture,” Claudine drawled. Her eyebrows rose as she caught sight of someone who’d just entered the house. “After all that trouble, Pontmercy still invited _him?”_

“Then again, Theodule Gillenormand is not his aunt,” Combeferre said in an undertone.

‘ _He’s another thing entirely,’_ Enjolras thought, placing a hand on Eponine’s waist even as he saw Marius greeting the lancer. “Perhaps he will not stay long,” he remarked.

“Yes, and we will stay longer,” Eponine said conspiratorially, squeezing his arm lightly. “I’d better go to the kitchen and see what Cosette needs, before he notices me.”

Combeferre and Claudine exchanged a knowing look before the latter also went to follow Eponine. Only after Claudine was out of earshot did Combeferre raise an eyebrow at Enjolras. “Some new trouble you two have concerning him?” he asked his best friend in Occitan.

“An incident or two,” Enjolras deadpanned. “Those were handled readily.”

“While getting under your skin of course,” Combeferre pointed out. “This is more than simple jealousy in your case, it seems.”

Enjolras took a deep breath, knowing better than to protest. “I hope that I have done right by her all these years,” he said. “It has not been easy; we’ve both had to make sacrifices. Yet of course the other possibility remains that we could have chosen differently.”

“Eponine marrying our now Captain Gillenormand would have been the worst match imaginable. That vibrant fire of hers would be dead in a year.” Combeferre shook his head before looking to Theodule again. “In his case it seems to be the renewal of his youthful fancy.” 

“How so?”

“There is talk he has also been flirting with girls even younger than your future daughter-in-law Ariadne.”

Enjolras frowned with disgust. ‘ _In actuality, girls the same age Eponine was when we first met,’_ the thought occurred to him even as he and Combeferre went to join Feuilly, Bahorel, Bossuet, and Joly, who were discussing some current events with colleagues from the judiciary. He saw that Gavroche Prouvaire, Azelma, Grantaire, and Nicholine had managed to get Courfeyrac into a lively discussion, while elsewhere Musichetta and Therese were now regaling Charlesette with some uproarious anecdote. ‘ _Perhaps something is afoot there too,’_ he observed before turning his attention back to Feuilly’s enthusiastic discussion of new negotiations in the Kingdom of Poland.

After a few minutes Eponine, Cosette, and Claudine now made their reappearance, having just come from the dining room. At that moment Theodule abruptly broke away from his conversation with Marius just to approach the trio of women. The officer bowed deeply before Cosette. “My apologies for not presenting myself right away to the lady of the house,” he said with a cordial smile. His eyes widened when he straightened up and looked at Eponine. “Why, you aren’t wearing your diamonds?”

Enjolras swiftly stepped towards Eponine, but even as he did so he saw her already reaching into a pocket of her dress. “You mean these?” she snapped as she flung the lavish diamond necklace right into Theodule’s face.

Theodule yelped as the stones hit him on his cheek, but he managed to catch the jewels before they could land on the floor. “How dare you! This was a gift!” he cried.

“How dare _you?”_ Eponine hissed, putting her hands akimbo. “You sent these to my home. A married woman’s home, where her family could easily find it. And don’t pretend that you didn’t know about that, since I know you saw my daughter when you gave those flowers before!”

“It was a gesture of goodwill as well as a mark of our friendship,” Theodule protested.

“No friend would go about saying what you have said about my husband,” Eponine seethed, giving Enjolras a sidelong glance before looking at Theodule furiously. “I know even about that.”

“The news came from a reliable source,” Theodule said. His gaze went uncomfortably to her midsection before he swallowed hard. “Considering how precarious your situation is, especially when the truth comes out about certain events of this summer, I thought you would need succor eventually from a man of honor.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped. “In what way is my situation precarious, and why would I ask help from you, of all people?”

Enjolras clenched his fist as it dawned on him what Theodule was referring to. ‘ _Clearly he’s been talking to Citizen Thenardier,’_ he thought as he now reached Eponine’s side. “Choose your next words wisely, Citizen. Slander is considered an offense in this Republic,” he told Theodule coldly.

The lancer swallowed hard, aware now of the entire gathering watching them. “I was under the impression that you had some difficulties as of late, and I thought you would need assistance,” he said slowly to Eponine.

Eponine burst out laughing. “What did you want me to do? Ask you for gifts, let you into my house, become your lover or run away with you?” Her brown eyes went darker with fury when Theodule flinched. “You are no man of honor with how you treat my husband or my family, or even with how you regard me!”

Theodule bristled at this. “You were fond of me once, Eponine. I had also once hoped that you would become my wife.”

“The name is Citizenness Enjolras to you, Captain Gillenormand,” Eponine said, raising her chin. “I’ve told you before why I wouldn’t marry you. Do you want me to say so _again_?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Enjolras saw Grantaire as well as Marius and Cosette trying to keep straight faces. “You can see that _my wife_ has made her point clear. She does not need to repeat it,” he said, touching the small of Eponine’s back.

“Aren’t you going to let her speak?” Theodule asked. “This Republic is about equality after all, as you like to say.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth and would have punched Theodule if he did not feel Eponine’s hand suddenly close about his, deftly working her fingers between his. “Eponine…” he muttered.

“Let me,” Eponine whispered in Occitan before she looked at Theodule again. “I s’pose you do not know how to really court a lady; it seems as if you thought that bringing me to dinner a few times would suffice. You never tried to get to know my siblings, and you did not treat my friends very well. Then you went off to Dijon, and never wrote me about your family or what doings were there. You only thought of me when you returned to Paris.”

“You never wrote either.”

“Where was I supposed to forward it? You never gave an address!”

Theodule’s jaw dropped even as Gavroche burst out cackling while most of the onlookers tried in vain to stifle giggles or bemused looks. “There was much to do over the holidays,” he muttered before clearing his throat. “That lapse aside, my suit was serious.”

Eponine shook her head. “You hardly even knew me. You never asked what I thought of anything, but I had to listen to what you thought of everything. You never liked it when I disagreed or thought a little different.”

“There can be no amity where there is disagreement between husband and wife,” Theodule argued. “To think, I had hoped to make you mine.”

“As if I was something you owned!”

“We would have been happier than now.”

“What gave you the idea that I am unhappy where I am?” Eponine asked acidly. “I know what you have said before that politics would ruin my name. I would have believed you if I thought I was only worth what my reputation was. I’m glad now that I did not, and that I chose otherwise.”

“Yes, you chose a man who cannot provide for you,” Theodule sneered. “What could he have possibly given you that I could not?”

It was all that Enjolras could do not to lunge at the lancer, who was regarding him with a scornful expression. ‘ _Yet he does have a point: riches, security, a life away from the public eye would have been more of his to give,’_ a nagging voice told him, even as he could see now the aghast looks of the rest of the company. Before he could look away, he felt Eponine’s hand tighten around his once more, prompting him to meet her eyes, which were fierce and resolute in that way he had always admired these past years. He squeezed her hand before nodding to her, silently letting her continue. ‘ _If she wanted those, she would have said so much earlier.’_

Eponine took a deep breath before looking at Theodule. “Himself. My husband gives me himself, and I do not need to ask or beg for anything from him.”

Theodule’s jaw dropped as he gaped at her. “What difference does that make?”

“Everything! It’s so simple, really! Antoine takes me as seriously as he does himself. He lets me decide for my own affairs and do what I believe ought to be done for many things. That way, I’m certainly much more than his housekeeper or cook---which is the sort of woman I have always told you to get for yourself, and the sort of woman I’m not exactly fit to become!” Eponine laughed as she looked around and then at Theodule, who’d actually taken a step backwards. “You must also know that I am proud that Antoine has a mind of his own and will not simply go along with what others have to say. That’s never going to change, and he’ll always have my respect for it. He’s just the sort of man anyone would be happy to call a father, and any woman would be glad to have as her husband. As for any questions of money, we do well enough with living honestly. I wouldn’t have it any other way especially for him. It will simply not do for his position.”

“Come now, you are a practical girl. A house with servants, fine dresses and parties, to be the talk of all the social scene---”

“Yet with no husband to share that with, is that what you mean?”

Theodule turned as white as a sheet at this retort even while Gavroche snorted again, this time with Joly, Bossuet, Grantaire, Azelma, and Musichetta joining in. The lancer wiped his face before looking to Marius and Cosette. “My apologies. I remembered I am expected elsewhere,” he said before making a stiff bow. “Good evening to you all.”

No sooner did Theodule make his exit, slamming the front door on the way out, Grantaire clapped slowly. “I must say, this was even better than the first time around!” he hollered over the laughter of the rest of the group.

“Unequivocal,” Enjolras pronounced even as he felt Eponine grasp his hand eagerly again. He met her eyes, now bright with mischief and joy, as he stepped closer to her. “You meant all of that, Eponine.” he whispered.

“Every single bit.” Eponine smiled as she stood on tiptoe to touch her forehead to his. “Do you believe it?”

Enjolras finally returned her smile as he took her hand to kiss her palm. “Every word.”


	59. An Inquisition in Dark Wood

It only stood to reason that after the outrageous events of Saturday, that the morning of October 30 would have the feel of some sort of anti-climax. ‘ _At least till a surprise visit from the public auditor,’_ Eponine thought, biting her lip as she watched this spindly figure going over the account books and lists of household expenses, spread out all over the table in the living room. Even after having endured several of these annual visits ever since this practice became _de rigeur_ for the households of France’s statesmen and civil servants, there was still something about this intrusion that never failed to make her gut twist. After a few moments of this she glanced at Enjolras, who stood next to her in the doorway. “I s’pose you should entertain him when he’s done, since you know the numbers as well as I do. I need to prepare for that visit from our Spanish friends,” she said to him in Occitan.

Enjolras glanced at his watch. “They will be coming at about half-past ten or even eleven, if we both read Citizenness de Polignac’s letter correctly. We have some time yet,” he said, touching her arm lightly.

“I s’pose we did,” Eponine said before kissing his cheek. “Thank you, Antoine,” she whispered in his ear before quitting the living room in favor of the kitchen. ‘ _If there’s a question, he can just holler for it, but that’s not likely to happen,’_ she thought as she began preparing some slices of bread as well as a couple of spreads kept in small jars, stopping now and then to check on a stew that she had left slowly to boil at the back of the stove.

Just as she shut the lid of the stewpot, she saw Neville now entering the kitchen. “Are you visiting Ariadne later?” she asked him by way of greeting.

“After lunch. She wants me to help her prepare something for All Hallows Eve tomorrow,” Neville answered candidly before glancing over his shoulder in the general direction of the living room. “Is that necessary every year?”

“The audit? It’s part of your father being a public figure. I s’pose it is also because of me too, since I do work with the diplomats from time to time,” Eponine said. “It’s just something that’s done to make sure that no one is getting wealthy outside of what they should properly earn. Everyone has to go through it, even those who do everything right.”

Neville nodded slowly. “You don’t seem to like it much.”

“It only reminds me of something unpleasant,” Eponine said, seeing now before her the image of old Thenardier crossing out figures in an untidy ledger. She shook her head to clear away this vision before she looked at Neville again. “That was long in the past, before you and Jacques were even around.”

Neville shuddered as he glanced around before taking a seat at the kitchen table. “Is it fine if I ask you about something, for myself and Ariadne?”

“I s’pose that depends what the question is.”

“I heard her and Mrs. Calamy talking with some ladies, and someone mentioned that she should put together a trousseau,” Neville began. “Is that something you had to do too before you got married?”

Eponine burst out laughing, only to put a hand on her belly when she felt the baby within kick rather strongly. “What, do you mean putting all these nice things like dresses and linen in a chest of some sort?”

“I think that’s what they meant,” Neville said, scratching his head. “It sounds like a requirement for all ladies.”

“Ladies who can afford it and aren’t living with their men before the wedding,” Eponine said. “Honestly, almost all your aunts just didn’t really have one, except maybe Cosette.”

“Did you?”

“Not an actual trousseau. Most of my nice things were wedding gifts. You remember I hardly had time to get fitted for anything, much less go shopping.”

Neville frowned slightly at this. “I don’t know why there was so much fuss about Ariadne having one. Mrs. Calamy said she wouldn’t have to worry about it for a while, but the other ladies didn’t exactly think that was the case.”

“It does take time to put together a proper trousseau, especially if you have to sew _everything_ yourself like if you were a lady in some places in America. Mrs. Calamy has a point though, a very strong one,” Eponine noted. “Why are you so curious?”

“Well, is there something for men?”

“Not exactly, but they do have to be prepared. Go ask your father how he did it.”

Neville scratched his head after a moment. “How? He always seemed to be prepared for any sort of contingency or situation.”

“No one becomes that way just like that,” Eponine reminded him. ‘ _Antoine will be able to prepare him for anything even if it isn’t marriage,’_ she thought as she checked on the stew again while Neville now left the kitchen.

After a few minutes she heard Enjolras’ footsteps approaching the kitchen. “That was a very quick audit,” she quipped when she saw him.

“Yes, even with working in our expenses from travel this year,” Enjolras replied with a smile that made the matter rather clear. He glanced back momentarily into the hall. “I heard Neville down here too.”

Eponine nodded. “I s’pose you should have a talk with him about some matters that concern young men in love,” she said. She laughed at the slightly horrified look that spread over Enjolras’ face. “It’s not about anything too startling, I think.”

“As long as he is not suddenly asking for permission to marry, then it should be manageable,” Enjolras deadpanned as he stepped towards her. He placed a hand atop her midsection as he kissed her forehead. “How are you both today?”

“Very well,” Eponine replied, smiling up at him even as she felt their child kick upwards towards the warmth of his hand. “She is saying good day to you too, Antoine,” she whispered.

Enjolras smiled as he brushed a stray strand of hair out of his wife’s face. “What I cannot wait for is the day he or she greets you face to face.”

“It will come sooner than we both think,” Eponine whispered before drawing him down for a kiss. She sighed eagerly into his mouth when he parted her lips easily and pulled her closer, such that she could feel the angles of his body against her curves. It was at that moment however that she heard knocking and then footsteps at the front door. “Looks like our friends are early,” she muttered frustratedly as they broke their kiss.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Then again, I doubt Citizenness de Polignac carries a watch.”

“It simply is not the Spanish fashion,” Eponine said, taking his hand to lead him to the front hall where they soon caught sight of Jacques avidly greeting Clarita de Polignac and the latter’s young cousin Imelda. Both women were sporting new dresses cut in the latest fashion, but had still retained the custom of wearing mantillas. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Enjolras’ knowing smirk, more so when Jacques began telling Imelda a story. “Did you mean to have lunch early, _Se_ _ñ_ _ora_ de Polignac?” Eponine greeted the newcomers lightly.

“Yes, some urgent matters, but I am determined to make our appointment,” Clarita replied before going forward to kiss Eponine on both cheeks. “You’re looking well, and _Se_ _ñ_ _or_ Enjolras too!”

“Yes, and please set your things down in the living room while I get something for us from the kitchen. You call the living room a _sala_ , don’t you?” Eponine said. “Antoine, maybe you can help Jacques and _Senorita_ Villanueva find something interesting in our collections?” she added, looking at Enjolras mischievously. 

Jacques’ jaw dropped as he looked to Imelda, who had lowered her eyes, and then at his adoptive parents. “Ponine!” he protested. “But what are we to do in the study?”

“You’ll find more interesting books there than what we have to talk about,” Clarita said as she shrugged off her coat. “Go on, Imelda, don’t be shy.”

Enjolras kept a straight face as he opened the study door. “Shall we?”

“I s’pose you’re going to enjoy being a chaperone a _little_ too much,” Eponine whispered in his ear as she passed by him on the way to the kitchen to retrieve the refreshments and set a pot of tea to boil. When she arrived in the living room, where Clarita had now made herself comfortable near the woodstove, she smiled apologetically as she set down the food . “I hope you don’t find us too startling with how we talk here at my home,” she said while taking a seat. 

“You should have heard us back in Madrid,” Clarita replied. “As for my cousin, she’s rather smitten with that young man, even if she’s so demure about it,” she added more conspiratorially.

“Smitten?”

“They make a good match, don’t they?”

‘ _Then again Antoine did say that the age for marriage is a good deal younger in that part of the continent,’_ Eponine reminded herself silently. “Jacques is fifteen, just a few months shy of sixteen. That’s hardly an age to be thinking of marriage, at least here in France,” she said. 

“Why how old were you when you married?”

“I had just turned eighteen.”

Clarita nodded perplexedly as she began to spread some cheese on a slice of bread. “Anyway, before I get carried away, I’ll tell you about that odd bead Imelda found. It’s one in a whole string from a jeweler who was too eager to sell.”

“A jeweler from the Rue d’Aligre?” Eponine asked eagerly, nearly spilling the very hot tea she was pouring.

The Spanish woman shook her head. “We met this jeweler at the Champs Elysee.”

“Oh. Was he old with a hooked nose?”

“Not old at all. He looked like a young sort of fool who didn’t know what he had in his hands was not even fit to sell as scrap!”

Eponine bit her lip and nodded. “How did you know what it was?”

“We use a lot of dark woods in Spain,” Clarita began, putting her hands in her lap. “My father, God have mercy on his soul, was a jeweler for the sheer love of it. He taught me a little about how not to be taken in too easily by wheedling dealers. Well in Spain we wear a lot of dark wood to go with our gold, and not just any wood either.”

“Everything looks the same with the right coat of paint,” Eponine said, reaching into her pocket for the bead that Clarita had sent her the day before. “Did that seller say where he got this? I don’t think he made it himself.”

“From another jeweler dealing in antiques, and at the Rue d’Aligre,” Clarita began before looking at Eponine perplexedly. “Someone you know?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to say.”

“Then you wanted to find out if he, I presume it is a man, is selling fakes? Why?”

“It’s a personal matter,” Eponine said quickly. “Rather I am sure he is selling them but I wanted to find out how and to who exactly.”

“I gave you an answer, which is that fool. He’s probably packed up shop by now,” Clarita replied. “It’s likely that this person at the Rue d’Aligre is simply selling off to smaller jewelers and at a high price too. He’s stealing from people who are lying.”

“Yes. I s’pose you’ve seen this sort of thing before.”

“All the time, while my father was still alive.”

Eponine nodded, knowing better than to press the matter further. “Were there other stalls at the Champs Elysees besides that one?”

“Very many, but I wasn’t going to check if all of them were selling the genuine article,” Clarita replied. “I do not have the money for that.”

“Or the time.”

“You have the name for it though. Wouldn’t every jeweler want to sell to a woman of a high name such as yours?”

Eponine snorted at this. “Is that what they are saying out in the street?”

“In all the times I’ve seen you, you wear your neck bare. Like a nun, or worse than a nun,” Clarita said candidly.

‘ _She does not know the story of Madame Guillotine’s Collar,’_ Eponine realized, shivering at the recollection of the scandal that had nearly ruined her sister and Prouvaire. She brought a hand up to her throat, thankful for the absence of any weight there. “With all that I do, I don’t have the time for jewels,” she said.

“But surely you own some?”

“One or two sentimental pieces.”

Clarita nodded slowly. “Then we should go to the Champs Elysee, to the market there. Maybe after All Saints Day. It would give you more answers than I can.”

“I s’pose while attracting attention?”

“You don’t want them knowing you’re looking for a man selling fakes.”

‘ _She plays this game as well as I do,’_ Eponine realized. “Fine. Set a day then so you can show me exactly what you mean.”


	60. All Hallows Eve

As far as Enjolras was concerned, the 31st of October had no reason to be different from any other workday. “The celebration of All Hallows is more British or American than anything else, and for as long as it has not become custom in France, then there is no reason to set down work in favor of any fetes,” he remarked to Combeferre on that morning when the latter had happened to visit his office at the Palais de Justice.

“It is Celtic, to be more exact druidic in its roots,” Combeferre corrected. “Centuries ago, the belief in a thinned veil between worlds held much more power, even here on the continent.”

“That belief still persists, only that we call it All Saints Day.”

“Which in some fashion you still observe.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this remark. “Only as a matter of remembering those gone ahead of us,” he pointed out. “Though since none of my relatives are buried here in Paris, there are no tombs for me to visit or make a memorial on.”

Combeferre nodded as he wiped his spectacles, only to turn at the sound of knocking on the office door. “Good day to you de Polignac,” he greeted the rather gaily dressed newcomer. “Is there some occasion?”

“We call it _Todos Los Santos_ in Spain,” de Polignac explained, doffing his plumed hat with a flourish. “Would you know where to find chestnuts?”

“There should be some at the market,” Enjolras said. “What for?”

“Roasting as part of tradition. It’s part of keeping away the homesickness, and I’d like to have my son see how chestnuts pop over a fire,” the young aristocrat explained. He brought out from under his coat a box of what appeared to be rolled up white sweets the length of short fingers. “My wife made these. Care to try some?”

Enjolras waited for Combeferre to take a sweet before reaching for one in turn. With the first bite of this confection he found himself with a mouthful of marzipan and custard. “What are these called?” he asked as he wiped his mouth.

“ _Huesos de Santo.”_

It took Enjolras a moment to translate this phrase from Spanish, prompting him to set down the confection. “Saint’s Bones?”

“Well, not literally,” de Polignac said sheepishly. “The middle is supposed to suggest marrow, from what I heard. I wouldn’t know.”

“The likeness is uncanny but delicious,” Combeferre quipped before taking another bite. “What other Spanish traditions are connected with All Saints Day?”

“Mostly the visits to the graves, and family gatherings,” de Polignac said. “In Mexico, a former colony of Spain, they have an actual festival they call _Dia de los Muertos_.”

“Day of the Dead. I do not see a difference save for the secular wording,” Enjolras said.

De Polignac shook his head. “Here in Europe we mourn, but in Mexico they celebrate. It is believed that on this day, the dearly departed do return to their families, who set out a feast as if they were indeed expecting company. They also set up small shrines they call _ofrendas_ where they offer presents for the dead. The departed are also said to be led to their homes by the smell of the Mexican marigold, which is strewn everywhere at this time of the year.”

“I take you are a skeptic about this tradition?” Combeferre asked curiously.

“Why would I believe it? The dead need our prayers, mostly,” de Polignac said. “I also do not believe in making light of such a subject.”

“Because we are taught that death is a permanent sundering, an odd contradiction for those whose religious belief hinges strongly on the possibility of an afterlife,” Combeferre observed. “But perhaps in other parts of the world, wherein life and death are seen as continuous or even in co-existence as opposed to polar opposites, mortality need not be the specter that it is.”

De Polignac sighed once more. “What do you believe, as a doctor?”

Combeferre shrugged. “I have seen the destruction of the physical husk so many times. Even if I cannot perceive that there is a soul or spirit beyond what animates the form in life, this does not mean I should discount entirely its existence.”

“What about you, Enjolras?”

“For certain, there is something beyond Death, if only for the conviction that it inspires in so many to pursue the ideal,” Enjolras said. For a moment he saw before him again redness and the fire of the barricade, forcing himself to blink to banish these images in favor of the sunshine of his chamber. “As to what its actual form and substance are, no one can credibly say so at present,” he added after a moment.

“As for me, I have yet to decide if I wish that Paradise would be in the style of the Revelation or of the Divine Comedy,” de Polignac said a little wistfully. “I am not in a hurry to see it for myself.”

‘ _Yet we have all come close to it a few too many times,’_ Enjolras could not help thinking even as Combeferre soon ushered de Polignac out of the office. Once the quiet of his workplace was restored, he resumed with the editing of the manuscript that had been with him for the past few days. He gritted his teeth on seeing that he was little more than halfway done through the whole sheaf. ‘ _This will take more than a few nights of work,’_ he told himself as he refilled his inkwell.

As Enjolras left the Palais de Justice, the sun was beginning to set, and the rising wind carried the smell of rain. He buttoned up his coat tightly against the cold as he hurried to find the omnibus back to the Latin Quartier, which was no easy feat with all the persons rushing for shelter. When he managed to find a seat, he found himself seated next to an elderly woman who was mostly wrapped up in a shawl. “Here, you may take the whole seat for more room,” he said as he got to his feet.

The crone smiled up toothlessly at him. “Why thank you, young man.” She reached for Enjolras’ hand and turned his palm upwards before he could pull away. “Care to see what the fates have in store for you?”

“I do not truly believe in such divination, Citizenness,” Enjolras said politely as he tried to shake his hand free, only to find himself held fast. “Once again, I have no use for it,” he said more firmly as he made another attempt.

The woman shook her head as she traced a line across his hand. “Much danger is in your future, young man. Not just for you, but for all you hold dear. The winds are blowing in a friend though from the east, and that is good for you” She clucked her tongue as she touched his palm again. “Your choices will not be easy, and can bring down worlds if you are not careful. And your heart, my boy. Protect your heart.”

It was at that moment that Enjolras saw the light playing across this crone’s face, showing the milky white film over her eyes. He backed away reflexively from this seer and found himself alighting as the omnibus came to a stop. As he stepped onto the street, he risked a glance back only to realize that there was no sight of this old woman through the vehicle’s windows. ‘ _Did I imagine it all?’_ he wondered incredulously as he steeled himself for the long walk back to the Rue Guisarde.


	61. The Market at the Champs Elysees

“It shouldn’t be too difficult. All everyone will see is that I am guiding some Spanish ladies so they don’t get gypped at that new market.”

“Is that what they are calling it these days, Eponine?”

Eponine rolled her eyes even as she continued to help Enjolras adjust the cuffs of his coat as they readied for the day on the morning of November 2. “You don’t have to be so worried about it, Antoine. Maybe I’ll find an answer there, maybe I won’t. If anyone asks why I know Spanish, then I’ll say I’m learning a thing or two from you.”

“All the same, be careful,” Enjolras admonished as he took her hand. “If you wish, you can borrow my phrasebook. It should be in the study.”

Eponine nodded as she smoothed out a fold in his right cuff before stepping back to inspect her handiwork. “As sharp as ever. You’ll definitely impress in court today,” she said with a grin.

Enjolras’ cheeks reddened slightly under this praise. “You do not mind that I am taking yet another _pro bono_ case?”

“Not at all. It’s what makes you a great lawyer, not just a competent one,” Eponine said. ‘ _It would kill him to be mercenary,’_ she thought as she smoothed down her green dress, frowning as she pulled the fabric down over her middle. “After your hearing, what are your plans for the day?”

“Some case work, and writing in the office between meetings,” Enjolras replied. “What about yours?”

“Bringing around some translations before meeting with Clarita at the market itself.”

“Hopefully that goes smoothly.” He then kissed her forehead and then her lips, lingering to look her in the face. “I’ll see you later.”

“Don’t be too late,” she said, smiling at him before kissing him back briefly. She sighed as she began to pin up her hair in a knot, even as she listened to her husband’s footsteps heading downstairs and out the door. “Even if I liked having him home all the time these past weeks, he can’t help being restless for the outside world,” she mused aloud before grabbing a pelisse and going downstairs in turn.

After seeing the older children off to school and dropping Etienne off to spend the day with the younger Bahorel boys, Eponine went to drop off her translations with some clients near the Sorbonne and then at the Place Saint-Andre. Following this, she took the omnibus across the Seine towards the Rue Saint-Honore. When she arrived at the Pontmercys’ residence, she came upon Cosette and Charlesette eagerly conversing in the living room. “Am I late for something?” Eponine quipped by way of greeting as she doffed her hat and pelisse.

“Charlesette is about to change her life, completely,” Cosette said excitedly, clasping the older woman’s arm.

“Oh it’s not completely, I’ll still be who I am, somewhat!” Charlesette replied. Her already rosy cheeks reddened further as she sat up to try to compose herself. “I’ve finalized the partition and sale of my estate at Auch. Almost all of it will go to the tenant farmers there who have agreed to buy the land from me at some small price, while I’m keeping only a little for myself in trust. That gives me some to put into Cosette’s business at Vernon. The reason I’m selling all of that and investing is because I’m not going back to Auch. I’m going to ask Maurice to marry me!”

Eponine’s jaw dropped. “Can you really do that?”

“It’s already done by the Irish, at least on the 29th of February when it comes around,” Charlesette pointed out. “You don’t need to be a queen to do that.”

‘ _Should I tell her of what Antoine told me about Courfeyrac already preparing to ask the same question too?’_ Eponine wondered silently. “How are you going to ask him?” she said after a few moments.

“I figure I should just ask him when we’re out together, at dinner. Maybe I might even get Armand to help me figure out something memorable for his father,” Charlesette thought aloud. “It’s not wrong to ask a child to help out, is it?”

“I think it’s charming and even sweet, as long as it is done right,” Cosette replied. “It would show that you value him as part of your married life and family.”

Charlesette nodded pensively. “Then I will go with you ladies to the market, and find some elegant pair of rings for us to wear. That’s a charming gesture I’ve always liked, even if it is old fashioned,” she said, glancing at her friends’ hands which were bare save for wedding rings.

“I didn’t want a diamond ring because I had no idea what to do with a shiner. Can you imagine my having to get ink out of a stone every day?” Eponine laughed. She held up her left hand to admire her simple wedding band in the morning light. “This one has always done just fine.”

“Much the same for me, and anyway I never had a taste for diamonds,” Cosette said, now getting to her feet. She left the living room and crossed the hall to knock on a door. “Marius, are Lucille and Jean with you? Eponine is here, so Charlesette and I will be heading out.”

“They’re playing at my feet now, and I can’t move. Will you be back for lunch?” Marius called from behind the door.

“No, but I’ll bring back something nice,” Cosette said before turning back to her friends. “He can cook well enough, he’s lived on his own,” she remarked sagaciously as she now picked up her own shawl and hat.

‘ _Oddly enough I don’t remember ever smelling his cooking back at the Gorbeau hovel,’_ Eponine mused as she and Charlesette now gathered up their things and followed Cosette out of the house. From the Rue Saint Honore it was only a short walk to the Tuileries, and from there the famed wooded avenue of the Champs Elysees.

When the trio of women arrived at this street, they immediately caught sight of Clarita de Polignac sitting on a bench under a large tree. “Finally! It’s just me today; my cousin Imelda is on some errands,” the Spanish woman greeted as she got to her feet. “You all look wonderful today.”

Charlesette cringed for a moment before gesturing to the white lace mantilla that covered Clarita’s luxurious dark tresses. “Must you wear that?”

“It’s not proper for a married woman to go about with her head uncovered,” Clarita retorted, adjusting the comb that held her veil in place.

“That’s why we have hats! You look like a nun!”

“I think it’s rather charming, and can be very good in this weather,” Cosette chimed in, clearly sensing the signs of a storm. “Lace is always nice.”

“It’s Spanish court dress and looks well enough. But there’s really no need to wear that outdoors here in Paris. People aren’t that particular,” Eponine said. She glanced to the stalls already being set up along the street. “Anyway those folks will not be looking.”

“But they will be talking,” Charlesette huffed. “Are you planning to conceal yourself or use an alias?” she asked Eponine.

“I have to go as myself; too many people know my face,” Eponine said. “If we were in another city, I’d probably go as an Irishwoman.”

“An Irishwoman?”

“Did Courfeyrac ever tell you of the time that in Rome I passed myself off as one?”

Charlesette shook her head. “You have to be the one to tell us that later,” she said as they now began walking down the Champs Elysees.

Eponine bit her lip as they neared the stalls, which even from afar were sparkling with jewels wrought from glass interspersed with other fine metals. “I’ve heard that the real things do not flash so brightly,” she whispered to Cosette while Charlesette and Clarita were haggling with a seller over a brooch shaped like a dove.

“That’s true of things like garnet and lapis, but not of actual precious gems like diamonds and sapphires,” Cosette said. “Those are the easiest to fake.”

“And yet the most often caught, so it isn’t any wonder that someone went as far as to try to pass off dark wood as something elegant,” Eponine noted as she now caught sight of a stall with a sign for mourning jewelry. She glanced at Cosette, taking stock of her friend’s beige gown edged with black ribbon according to half-mourning customs. “Come with me for a bit,” she murmured, grabbing her friend’s arm.

Cosette blanched on seeing the stall. “Whoever wears such a thing?”

“Ladies with fiercer tastes than yours,” Eponine whispered as they now approached the stall, which was manned by an elegantly dressed rotund gentleman whose distinctive feature was a fast-receding hairline. On closer inspection the sunlight revealed the recent rehemming of his coat and the slightly tattered state of his collar. She smiled cordially at this seller, making a show of displaying her wedding ring. “Good day, Citizen. Have you anything to suit my friend here?” she asked, glancing at Cosette.

The seller keenly eyed Eponine first, then the Baronness. “I think I may. Is this for a recent loss or is the mourning period drawing to an end?” he asked, his beady eyes glinting.

“The latter,” Eponine said, making a show of examining a necklace of heavy black round beads interspersed with white ones shaped like lozenges. “Where are these from? They don’t look very ordinary,” she remarked.

“They’re jet, Citizenness, from Whitby,” the seller said. “It’s all the way in---”

“In England, I know. I was there a few months ago.” Eponine frowned at the seemingly uneven finish of several of the beads in her hand. “Tell me, is Whitby jet always so unpolished?”

“Ah, the Citizenness is not satisfied? I have other pieces that are more suitable.”

“No, I am only wondering why we French are receiving such poor imports.”

The seller paled at these words before holding up another necklace. “Perhaps these brooches might be more suitable?” he asked, looking now to Cosette.

“No thank you, I do not wear brooches,” Cosette said, shaking her head.

“These are also made of fine jet, Citizenness.”

“Glass. I know how to make it and I’d do it better.”

“Clearly you do not know who you speak to, Citizen,” Charlesette laughed, now joining them. “Her father has made his name in the jeweling business too.”

The jeweler swallowed hard and bowed. “Perhaps when we have better pieces, I’ll be most happy to serve you. All of you,” he said.

“You won’t get better pieces, not if you keep buying them from the same person,” Eponine said, now looking at the nervous jeweler. “I know you didn’t make these pieces. Who are you getting them from?”

“You are right that I am not a craftsman,” the seller stammered. “I assure you, I bought them in good faith.”

“Good faith does not excuse stupidity. Anyone with a good enough eye can see that they are fakes,” Eponine retorted. “Who is selling these to you?”

At that moment the seller quickly threw down the brooch he was holding and bolted down the avenue. “Stop that man!” Clarita cried, now seeing this scene. Immediately a pair of policemen took up the chase, only to be nearly tripped up when their quarry threw another seller’s tables in their way.

Eponine gritted her teeth as she saw this. “Not good enough!” She shook her head as she looked at the abandoned wares before her. “Even if I _know_ where they are from, there’s no solid proof of it!”

“If you ask me, he’s as good as confessed,” Clarita said. “What are you going to do now?”

“Think things over,” Eponine said, picking up some of the necklaces and pocketing them. “For certain, there’s got to be more of these scattered throughout Paris!”


	62. These Things We Propose

As was usually the case after the morning hearings at the Palais de Justice, Enjolras found Courfeyrac waiting in the lobby, tapping his feet nervously. “I take that today is one for plans to come into fruition?” Enjolras deadpanned by way of greeting.

Courfeyrac nodded furtively. “I still do not know what to say to Charlesette. It has to be perfect since most people usually get to do this only once in a lifetime” he said. “Or in your case, never. How on earth did you get Eponine to agree without actually _asking_?”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this jibe. “If you must know, it was more of coming to an accord than anything else.” The memory of that unexpected evening discussion nine years ago over coffee brought a smile to his face before he looked to his still discomfited friend. “You cannot go wrong with being straightforward,” he added.

“I despair of the lot of us. You suggest being straightforward, Prouvaire suggests poetry and a grand gesture, and I will not repeat here what Bahorel, Grantaire, and Bossuet have all suggested,” Courfeyrac groaned as he wiped his face. “The least you could do is help me with the verbiage.”

“Courfeyrac, I am not helping you rehearse your proposal to your intended.”

“Who else am I supposed to ask then?”

‘ _Perhaps I should point him to Combeferre,’_ Enjolras thought but before he could voice out this suggestion, he caught sight of the diplomat LeClerc in the doorway, arguing with a tall young man in traveling clothes. Enjolras shook his head, recognizing now this other newcomer. “Good day, LeClerc. Welcome to Paris, Riva,” he greeted as he walked up to the two men.

LeClerc nearly started on seeing Enjolras. “We were just about to go find you upstairs,” he said, nodding to Riva. “It’s quite a long story.”

Riva doffed his large hat, showing his sweat-soaked hair and his still flushed brow. Despite this obviously harried state, something about him seemed older and more statesman like than he had been the previous summer during their travels from Venice to Rome. “I hurried all the way here from Bercy station. Paris is bigger than I thought.”

“In a way, the streets are more labyrinthine than Venice,” Enjolras pointed out, motioning for Courfeyrac to also follow them upstairs to his office. ‘ _For certain this will have some import on the edits,’_ he thought, remembering now the manuscript he still had on his desk. As they walked, he could not help but carefully look around, just to make sure that they would not be followed all the way to the second floor.

Once he had escorted his friends to the office, Enjolras locked the door and waited for them to take their seats. “You first. What brings you here to France?” he asked Riva.

The Italian wrung his hands. “An errand from Mazzini. LeClerc here was telling me that I might have arrived in Paris too early for my errand,” he said wearily.

“That errand being?”

“Giuseppe Garibaldi.”

‘ _The very same name mentioned in that cryptic note in Vernon,’_ Enjolras recalled, seeing now before him the note that had been slipped to Eponine while they were at the inn. “Who else knows of this man’s itinerary?” he asked after a moment.

“Aside from Mazzini, I am not sure,” Riva said. “I am being watched, am I?”

“Yes. Perhaps for longer than you think.”

LeClerc sighed despairingly. “For certain, the Prussians and Austrians will not look kindly on this and may even clamor that Garibaldi be ejected or imprisoned upon arriving on French soil.”

“Unless he instigates deliberate and destructive unrest, there are no grounds for doing so,” Enjolras pointed out. “As it is, this man Garibaldi has the right to free and quiet transit through France, or even to claim asylum if need be.”

“But claiming asylum would hamper the _Risorgimento_ ,” Courfeyrac chimed in, leaning back in his seat. “It would make him an exile.”

“I have never met Garibaldi, but from what Mazzini told me of him, he would never do that,” Riva argued. “Besides, he is not entirely safe here in this country, and may have had to enter here under a false name.”

“Which is a legal complication in itself, and as I have been telling you this past half hour, not one that can easily be sorted with manifests at the border,” LeClerc retorted.

“All the same, due diligence must be exercised,” Enjolras said calmly, looking first at Courfeyrac, then at LeClerc and Riva. “It would stand to reason that Mazzini would find a way to arrange for you and Garibaldi to meet up here in Paris. How long have you been in this city?” he asked the young Italian.

“Two hours.”

“When did Mazzini say that Garibaldi would arrive?”

“Any day now,” Riva said. “He is supposed to have set sail from Uruguay in South America.”

Courfeyrac’s eyes widened. “Uruguay? Where exactly is that?”

“It’s an independent state south of the Equator that was once under Spanish rule until fairly recently, just about 1830 I believe. It functions mainly as a buffer between the Argentine Confederation and the Empire of Brazil,” LeClerc explained. “These former colonies of Spain and Portugal tend to be convoluted affairs of infighting,” he added with some distaste.

‘ _It also happens to be a state that France does not exactly have diplomatic ties with, as of this time,’_ Enjolras mused silently. “It is also likely that he will not be able to take a direct route from the coast of Uruguay to any of our ports,” he said, more to himself than anyone else.

Riva’s jaw dropped. “You mean he will take the roundabout route?”

“He has no choice. We do not have diplomatic relations with Uruguay that would allow for a straightforward passage aboard a carrier or even a mail boat,” Enjolras said. He went to his desk to search for a map that he had kept rolled up there, next to the manuscript he was still editing. “Correct me if I am wrong, LeClerc, but we have French ports of call in the Caribbean?” he asked, laying the map down on a less cluttered spot on the table.

“Yes. One of the most important ones is Saint-Pierre in Martinique,” LeClerc said, pointing to an island in the Caribbean. “There are several others, but it presently is among the most stable. Passage to France can be booked readily from there, and the ships coming from that part of the world proceed to Brest and Bayonne, mainly.”

‘ _If he goes to Bayonne, then that means dealing with the Basques again,’_ Enjolras realized, gritting his teeth. “Then it is at those ports we must set a watch, if only to make sure that no mishap befalls this man till he can be properly secured,” he said firmly as he took his own seat. “Unless your orders allow for you to set sail across the ocean to fetch Garibaldi personally, you will have to remain in Paris indefinitely, Riva,” he added, nodding to the youngest man in the room. 

“That is fine by me. I have other errands here.” The Italian looked at Enjolras more keenly. “One of a more personal nature that I think you are aware of.”

It took Enjolras a moment to remember what the Italian was referring to. “Your ancestry?”

“You know. _Signor_ Contarini told you,” Riva said, a slight edge of accusation in his voice. “That trip throughout Italy was a test was it not?”

“Yes, and a chance for you to see the world and prove matters to yourself,” Enjolras admitted. “In my view, you acquitted yourself very well especially in Rome.”

Riva nodded slowly. “Why did you connive with _Signor_ Contarini to conceal this?”

“What he divulged to me was merely a suspicion, something of his intuition if you will,” Enjolras explained. “It would not have been seemly to excite comment on something that has yet, to my knowledge, be proven.”

“Now I need to find out why my grandfather was said to be born here, near Paris. That makes him a French citizen, but it does not explain this face that I inherited from him,” Riva said, pointing to his own visage. “In Rome, someone called me a Memmo. That is the surname of the ancestors of the present Mocenigos, my patrons aside from the Contarinis. That mistake kept happening upon my return to Venice. Only now, I am not sure it is a mistake.”

Enjolras glanced at LeClerc, who only nodded by way of confirmation. “Should you ascertain your patrimony that you are connected to some patrician family, what will you do with this information?” he asked.

“I am not sure, but that would depend on what I may find concerning my grandfather,” Riva replied. “While waiting for Garibaldi, I will do my inquiries.”

‘ _There will be much to sift through for him,’_ Enjolras thought even as he heard familiar footsteps now approaching his office door. “Eponine, this is quite a surprise,” he greeted as he got to his feet.

Eponine peered into the room and her eyes widened on seeing who was there. “My goodness, _Signor_ Riva! Is that really you?” she asked.

“In the flesh, _Signora_ ,” Riva said courteously, only to stop short when he finally got a good look at the lady. “You’re—”

“Oh no need to be bashful about it, you’ll find yourself a father someday,” Eponine said, stepping into the room to nod to Courfeyrac and LeClerc before she glanced over her shoulder. “My haven’t we a lot of introductions to make!”

“Indeed,” Enjolras remarked, seeing now that his wife was accompanied by Cosette Pontmercy, Clarita de Polignac, and Charlesette Karolyn. It was all he could do to keep a straight face on seeing the looks of consternation that crossed the faces of Courfeyrac and Charlesette when they laid eyes on each other. After all the introductions were made, he nodded to Eponine to meet him in one corner of the office. “What is afoot?” he asked.

“That errand to the Champs Elysees did not go as well as we’d hoped. We found someone selling fakes but he would not sing as to where he had these made,” Eponine said, producing some cheaply made necklaces from a pocket of her pelisse. She leaned in closely to whisper in his ear. “The one who’s lucky is Charlesette. She’s got a ring to give to Courfeyrac!”

Enjolras pulled away to search his wife’s face for any sign of joking. “Are you sure?”

Eponine nodded gleefully. “Do keep that to yourself, she’s got a plan and all to let him know that she’s here to stay if he will have her.”

Enjolras glanced over to where the other couple were animatedly discussing matters before leaning in on the pretext of kissing Eponine’s cheek. “That is, till it comes to light that he intended to ask her _today,”_ he said, muffling his words in her hair.

Eponine’s eyes widened. “Well he’d better get to it, that awfully handsome ring she’s got is just hidden up her sleeve!”

It was at that moment that a clattering sound came from where Courfeyrac and Charlesette were talking. “Wait a moment,” Courfeyrac said, quickly bending to pick up something that Charlesette had dropped.

“Maurice, don’t!” Charlesette whispered as she tried to stop his hand, only to end up bumping against him and dislodging a box peeking out of his waistcoat pocket. She quickly picked up the box, which had fallen open on the floor. “What is this?” she asked, holding up a gold ring in the shape of an intricately braided leaf garland with a large amethyst in the middle.

Courfeyrac’s face flooded red up to his hairline. “It was meant to be presented to you, Charlesette,” he said quickly. He opened out his hand to show what he’d picked up, which was a larger gold ring in the shape of a series of knots coming together to form a ‘C’ in the middle. “This is not something I imagine you wearing.”

“No, it is something I imagine _you_ wearing,” Charlesette confessed. “That is, if you will have me, Maurice?”

Courfeyrac shook his head before getting to one knee in front of her. “It should be my question to ask, Charlesette. At least if we are to follow the old rules.”

Charlesette smiled as she slipped the ring she held onto her left hand before motioning for Courfeyrac to do the same. “Who says we do follow those rules anyway?” she laughed, crouching to meet him properly with a kiss.


	63. A Tale of Two Brides

“So have you been able to find anything worth asking about?”

“Not at all. No one is talking about where those jewels or those furnishings were made.”

Eponine sighed deeply as she carefully blotted some excess ink on her latest translation. “I’ve been asking around since the second of this month, which was Wednesday. It’s already Friday, the 4th of November. We don’t have much time left to stop that wedding if it’s really going to be before Christmas,” she groused as she glanced back at Azelma, who was busy sketching while seated on the chaise in the study. It was very rare that her sister got to visit on a workday, thus Eponine was determined to make the best of the matter by letting her sister into the study even as she tried to get some work finished for the day.

“You’re not going to find anything at a weekday market, Ponine. You might have better luck tomorrow since it is a Saturday,” Azelma pointed out, making room for her nephew Etienne to also climb up on the seat.

“I s’pose at this point we might need a better plan. We could go through all of Paris without anyone singing about those fakes,” Eponine mused. ‘ _In fact, I don’t think it could really get anyone in jail after all, even him,’_ she reflected.

Azelma twirled the pencil she had in hand before tucking it behind her ear. “Maybe there’s got to be something else legal that can stand in the way. You can ask my brother about it.”

“Which brother?”

“The one you’re married to.”

Eponine nodded. “Maybe if he is not busy later,” she said, glancing towards Enjolras’ desk, which was now clean ever since he had finished his first edits on the primer. She smiled to herself as she felt a strong kick near her navel. “There, you know we’re talking about your father again?” she whispered as she patted her belly.

“Speaking about that, have you two thought of names?” Azelma asked, handing Etienne the pencil to play with.

“Not yet,” Eponine admitted. “Since I named the boys, he gets to name this one if it is a girl.”

“That is fair.” Azelma absentmindedly patted Etienne’s shoulder when the little boy snuggled up to her. “You have no idea how lucky you are, Ponine. Having children just comes easily for you.”

“Well sometimes nature plays tricks on me and Antoine,” Eponine said, noting now the slight sadness in her sister’s voice. “You and Jehan though---”

“We’ve tried. We might still try a little longer, but it still hasn’t happened again after Maximillien,” Azelma whispered, her eyes somehow growing wet even as she spoke. She sighed and looked upwards for a moment before speaking again. “Maybe it’s better this way since we are so busy, and I honestly do not think we would do so well if we had another child to take care of. Still, some part of me does not want Maximillien to grow up lonely the way Jehan did.”

“He won’t. He has cousins and friends. Jehan hardly knew anyone his age while growing up in Bordeaux, so he’s said before.”

“It’s different with brothers and sisters. You’d know.”

“Not entirely,” Eponine said, biting her lip when images of rickety tenements and the Gorbeau Hovel rose before her waking eyes again. “Sometimes I feel that the five of us were more like little people just thrown under the same roofs or under the same bridge, instead of actually _being_ siblings. I mean the boys left or were given away so early, then you and I had to make do till the revolution. Then we all know the rest.”

“Yes, and now that you and Enjolras have adopted Neville and Jacques, that makes things out of the ordinary once again,” Azelma remarked lightly. “Though it’s better for them, since they actually _need_ parents.”

‘ _Not for long, since they will be young men soon enough,’_ Eponine thought. She got up from her desk and went over to hug her sister. “It’s going to be fine, whether you and Jehan have one or many children.”

“Thank you. This family is crazy enough as it is,” Azelma said, managing a smile.

Etienne looked from Eponine to Azelma. “Auntie Zel sad?” he asked.

“I’m a little better. Thank you, Tienne,” Azelma said before reaching out to tickle the toddler, making him laugh and squeal. “You’re much more into games than your brother is, aren’t you?”

“I s’pose that is a good thing, since sometimes I worry there aren’t enough books in the house for all of them,” Eponine quipped. She glanced towards the window in time to see Charlesette approaching the garden gate. “And here comes the bride!” Eponine greeted cheerily as she opened the front door.

Charlesette blushed deeply even as she let herself into the yard. “Is that how everyone is going to call me for the next month?”

“You’re the one making an honest man out of Courfeyrac,” Eponine quipped, motioning for her friend to step into the house. “What brings you here to the Latin Quartier?”

“Some errands,” Charlesette said, smiling at Azelma as they entered the study. “I just came from seeing Musichetta, Therese, and Nicholine at their atelier.”

“Your dress?” Azelma asked, sitting up excitedly. “What color is it going to be?”

“I heard white is now fashionable, but I don’t think it suits me,” Charlesette said, taking a seat. “Therese said she’d try to source something that is a bit of a light blue.”

“Considering that you will to be married on December 8, that will be a quick search,” Azelma said dryly. 

“I wish it was sooner, but there’s that business about needing banns posted for a full three weeks prior and some!”

“Everyone goes through that. So what will you be wearing with that dress?”

“A necklace that matches the amethyst in this ring. I’m sure Maurice got a good look at my jewel box before he picked this out,” Charlesette said, holding out her hand to let Azelma inspect the ring. “The necklace was my mother’s, so that will be that something old I will bring to the altar.”

“You’re lucky. Our mother didn’t get to leave us anything at all,” Azelma said. “Not that our father would have let her keep anything of hers at that inn.”

“Yes because he would always tell her that someday we’d afford something better,” Eponine added, rolling her eyes. “Will you be moving into Courfeyrac and Armand’s home, or will you three be looking for another place to live?” she asked Charlesette.

“The apartment is good for now, and it would be easier on Armand to adjust if I’m the one who moves in,” Charlesette said. “But once we’re ready, we’ll find a bigger place.”

“Let’s all get through the wedding first!” Azelma cajoled. “What do we have to wear?”

“It’s going to be an afternoon occasion with dinner after, so whatever is appropriate for that. I don’t really care about the colors or frills,” Charlesette replied. She paused before looking at Eponine. “If it is not too much trouble for you, could you be one of our witnesses at the wedding?”

“Me?” Eponine asked incredulously. “I’m honored, but surely you have other friends who might take precedence?”

“You’re one of my first friends here in Paris, so you take precedence,” Charlesette said firmly. “There is almost nothing left for us in Auch.”

“You don’t mind that I’m obviously showing?” Eponine asked, pointing to her middle.

Charlesette scoffed. “Not at all. It’s a baby, not a scandal.”

“Well now you’ve said it, I’ll be delighted to be your witness,” Eponine replied. She chuckled on feeling another strong kick lower in her stomach. “Even this one agrees it would be a good idea.”

“If Eponine is going to be your witness, that means Enjolras will be Courfeyrac’s?” Azelma asked. “It’s perfectly logical.”

“Courfeyrac is also just as likely to ask Combeferre,” Eponine pointed out, shifting to let Etienne climb into her lap. She sighed on seeing the boy’s hands now sticky with some sweets he’d clearly hidden somewhere in his clothes, prompting her to get a handkerchief to clean up. “The three of them were students together after all.”

Charlesette shrugged. “I’ll leave the gentlemen to figure it out.” She paused as she looked to the window. “Cosette is here too!”

‘ _And looking too harried,’_ Eponine realized, looking up briefly from wiping down Etienne’s hands amid his protests just to see Azelma jump up to let their friend in. “Cosette! Has something terrible happened?’ she asked, seeing the Baronness’ wild, upset expression.

Cosette nodded quickly only to stop short and sigh deeply on seeing Charlesette. “I guess it’s good then that you’re here, you’d better sit down,” she said after a moment of regaining her composure. She set down her market basket and pulled her sweaty hair out of her face. “You and Courfeyrac had your wedding banns posted at Saint-Eustache, for your wedding on the eighth of next month?”

Charlesette nodded. “Is something wrong?”

“Well it’s posted for all to see, and Marius’ relatives saw them,” Cosette began. “That’s what his grandfather said when Marius and I visited today for breakfast. His aunt was there too.”

Eponine frowned as she set Etienne down on his feet and signed for him to play in the next room. “I thought you were done with all of that.”

“Marius and I don’t have a quarrel with Grandfather, and I think they treat us better as guests who stop by for an hour or two,” Cosette explained. Her fair face was pale as she looked at Charlesette. “I don’t know how they did it, but his aunt moved _her_ wedding up from right before Christmas, right to December 8 as well.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped. “What! You’re joking!”

“I’m not! Marius checked at their parish in Saint-Denis, and I went all the way to Notre Dame myself to check since I know that’s where his aunt is holding the wedding,” Cosette said. “The banns are posted on the church entrances, and the schedules for weddings up to the end of the year.”

Eponine shut her eyes even as she heard Charlesette begin to swear in Gascon. “That’s one of the rottenest tricks yet,” she muttered. “They know that you and Marius would have to be at Courfeyrac and Charlesette’s wedding!”

“Not just us, but more importantly, you two and your husbands as well,” Cosette said, looking to Eponine and Azelma.

“Not me,” Eponine said. “You heard what Citizenness Gillenormand said, that it would be improper for me to display myself in public in my condition.”

“You know who else will make a ruckus if we do not go to the wedding,” Azelma pointed out. “It’s just one day, Ponine.”

“One day too many for me,” Eponine retorted. “He can go one day without having to pretend that he is a loving father to his children.”

“But he’s still our father!”

“Only when he wants to be.”

Charlesette cleared her throat. “If it is your father’s wedding, Eponine, that should take priority over mine.”

“No, this is just a horrible trick of his. I’d rather have him displeased with me for not being there than have him think I’m perfectly fine with what he is up to, which is what my going there would mean,” Eponine answered. She nodded to her sister, who was looking at her hands in her lap. “We need to work faster, Zelma.”

“Are you two still trying to stop the wedding?” Cosette asked.

“We have to. It’s not going to do anyone good,” Eponine said. A quick glance at her watch told her that it would still be two hours till she could expect Enjolras home. “But did Marius’ aunt or anyone actually say why they changed the date?”

“Something about wanting it to be her date since she has always been devoted to the Feast of the Immaculate Conception,” Cosette said.

“Well if she was so devoted to it, she would have picked that day to begin with,” Eponine scoffed. “Charlesette, I’m definitely going to be at your wedding. As for the other, the bride detests that I am with child, and the groom would just as soon murder my own husband on the spot. It’s much safer for us all that way,” she decided aloud.

Azelma laughed humorlessly. “When you say it that way, it sounds like some convoluted romance plot as opposed to a family problem.”

“The first might have been simpler to solve, Zelma. I’ll come up with something, then will let you know as soon as I can.”


	64. A Gentleman's War

As far as Enjolras was concerned, there were worse things than having Giovanni Riva spend the morning in his office at the Palais de Justice. ‘ _At the very least he has many useful things to relay,’_ he decided, looking up from the papers he was working on just to listen to the young Italian’s diatribe. “What you are saying is that this movement for Italian unification is facing temerity from both Venice _and_ Sicily?” he clarified. “Wasn’t our problem with the Papal States last summer?”

“That will be the last stronghold, once we unify the rest of Italy,” Riva said, wiping his face. “Contarini is keeping the patricians such as the Mocenigos happy in Venice, but the newer families and authorities prefer remaining in the Austrians’ good graces, for their safety. Then in Sicily our friend Agosta is trying to convince the local chiefs that it would be in Sicily and Naples’ best interests to go beyond being the two kingdoms that they are now.”

“Is there not any sentiment or principle to rally them with?”

“That’s why we need Garibaldi.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “A revolution may be galvanized by a single man, but to have him as the guiding principle and soul is halfhearted.”

“I have not met Garibaldi myself, but Mazzini speaks highly of him,” Riva said. “You’ve met Mazzini; he is a man of letters and philosophy. I am not surprised that you two got on so well in Venice. Garibaldi is said to appeal more to the masses as a liberator of the oppressed.”

“That is well. What does he stand for?”

“The same things as Mazzini does, a united Italy under the rule of its own people, and free of foreign oppression.”

“I see,” Enjolras said, looking at the younger man thoughtfully. “From what you are saying, he is viewed as the hero that Italy needs----or perhaps what Italians should aspire to be. This undertaking cannot rest on the shining example of one man, not when you need a thousand sparks to spark the flame of your liberation.”

Riva’s brow furrowed as he met Enjolras’ eyes. “You had Lafayette and Lamarque when you fought for the Republic here in France.”

“Lafayette as the bridge between the old and the new, a moderating force if you will. Lamarque was popular with the people and his fight in politics served to prime and fuel their revolutionary spirit, and then make them ready for the spark that was his death,” Enjolras explained calmly. “The revolution would not have been possible with so many other leaders such as Charles Jeanne here in Paris or the leaders of societies in other departments and provinces in France. There are too many to name.”

“But did you not have a significant part in it?”

“As one of many. The _Amis del ABC_ were not a particularly large group, however well connected as we were.”

“This is going to be more difficult than we thought,” Riva muttered. “But should we succeed in uniting Italy, the country will be recognized by France and its neighbors?”

“That would depend upon several principles such as the leadership of the government and by what form power is consolidated,” Enjolras said, glancing down at his work. ‘ _This is more for other parts of the primer, not the chapters on asylum or on extradition,’_ he thought as he went over a correction that Lamarre had suggested for their portion of the manuscript.

Riva nodded slowly even as a knock sounded on the office door. “I should go.”

“Feel free to stay. That is just Grantaire,” Enjolras deadpanned even as he saw the journalist open the door. “What brings you here?”

“Bringing you out into the sun,” Grantaire said with a grin. “We’re sparring today at the Jardin du Luxembourg. You should come too, _Signor_ Riva.”

Riva blanched at this offer. “What sort of sparring will you be doing?”

“With sticks. Not all of us can afford a fancy foil,” Grantaire said. “I saw how you fought back in Italy and you need to learn what to do when you do not have a blade.”

‘ _A very timely exercise,’_ Enjolras reflected, now regretting leaving his own _canne_ at home. “I take this will be within the hour?”

Grantaire nodded. “Courfeyrac will be pleased that we have our full complement of heroes on the _Argo!_ ” he said cheerily, slinging an arm around a nervous Riva’s shoulders. “You’ll have much to teach when you return to the Italian climes, my friend.”

“You’ll have to find a weapon for him to use,” Enjolras pointed out, hoping to give Grantaire a more useful diversion. ‘ _Or he can use whatever I will borrow once I am done, since I should not stay out too late today,’_ he also decided silently while returning to his work, even as Grantaire continued regaling Riva with the merits of their proposed activity that afternoon.

“Doesn’t any of you actually fence?” Riva asked worriedly at length.

“Only for duels,” Enjolras deadpanned, looking up from his work once again. “When we spar, we prefer singlesticks or other arts with _cannes_.”

“You’re holding back, Enjolras. What about savate? If Feuilly is coming along, you should show Riva here some of the basics,” Grantaire suggested.

“On some other occasion,” Enjolras said calmly. After several weeks of being limited in his activities, he could not help but feel something lost in the tone of his arms. ‘ _It will take some time to catch up,’_ he thought resolutely as he scrawled in a turn of phrase on his work. After a few more minutes of trying to write while listening to Grantaire harangue Riva, who excused himself shortly after, he took it upon himself to bring the journalist to the Jardin du Luxembourg.

When they arrived at the park, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Bossuet and Joly were already waiting there. “Feuilly and Jehan should be along in a while, they’re off with the Spanish contingent,” Courfeyrac said. He held out a _canne_ to Enjolras. “Care for a rematch?”

“Gladly,” Enjolras said, taking the long stick. He carefully took off his coat and set it to the side, while Courfeyrac also tossed aside his own outer garment. He stepped back several paces and raised his _canne_ , waiting till Courfeyrac dropped into a defensive stance. Enjolras sprang forward, only to have Courfeyrac parry his first blow. He spun back in time to deflect Courfeyrac’s first swing of his _canne_ , before quickly bringing up his own weapon to ward off a flurry of blows. As they continued to parry each other’s attacks, Enjolras gritted his teeth to stave off the ache he could feel starting up in his arms from sustaining this fight. After a few moments he saw Courfeyrac swing broadly towards him, prompting him to block this blow with his _canne_ and push back to throw his friend off balance. Courfeyrac tottered backwards and would have fallen if not for Bahorel nudging him forward, but before he could recover he was met with the tip of Enjolras’ _canne_ to his throat. “Well met. You almost had this one though,” Enjolras said candidly as he lowered the _canne_.

Courfeyrac grinned as he set down his weapon. “It took longer than usual, but you haven’t lost your touch,” he said.

Enjolras shrugged ruefully as he rubbed his arms. “Give me a few weeks, and I’ll match you well enough,” he said before nodding to Feuilly and Prouvaire, who were just entering the park.

“In a few weeks, I’ll be a bridegroom and you’ll be signing the receipt for it,” Courfeyrac quipped. “I mean I want you to be a witness to my wedding,” he added more seriously.

“It would be my honor to do so,” Enjolras said. “Who will be giving the speech at the wedding dinner?”

“That will fall to me,” Combeferre said mirthfully. “Who else will be at the entourage?” he asked Courfeyrac.

“Charlesette is working on that, specifically asking the ladies,” Courfeyrac replied.

“Speaking about the wedding, do your parents know about it?” Bahorel asked.

Courfeyrac shrugged as he sat on a log. “I’ve written, but a reply may come the day that it begins to snow upwards.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Feuilly said blasely.

“Then if your parents do not come to the wedding, does that mean you and Armand are completely cut out?” Joly asked worriedly.

“Not really,” Prouvaire said. “My mother has not written to me in nine years, but I am certain that she cannot actually disinherit me.”

“You don’t have any siblings, Jehan,” Bossuet pointed out. “She doesn’t have a choice.”

“He is correct. One thing that hasn’t changed since the Code Napoleon is that children cannot legally be disinherited and must all receive something from their parents. That problem of property is something that will remedy itself whether by law or their changing of minds,” Courfeyrac explained. “What has changed though is that I do not need their written consent for the marriage. There will be no need to go through the circus of notaries and papers just to gain one’s freedom,” he added, nodding to Enjolras and Prouvaire.

“As it should be,” Enjolras concurred, remembering all too well the documents that had to be drawn up prior to his wedding with Eponine, and then a year later for Azelma’s marriage to Prouvaire. “I take then that there will be no visitors from Gascony?”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “That chapter is closed for us, unless the tide changes.” He waved to Armand, who was now walking up to them. “How has your day been?” he asked his son.

“Very nice,” Armand said, wiping his hands, which were covered with chalk. “I was the fastest today with the multiplication tables.”

“Up to how many have you memorized?” Bahorel asked the boy.

“Times twelve. Is there a times thirteen table?”

Combeferre shook his head and sighed deeply. “Someday there will be a better way to teach children about mathematics,” he said to Enjolras in an undertone. 

Enjolras’ eyebrows quirked upwards with curiosity. “How would you suggest it?”

“Showing children patterns and how things add up, as opposed to how we learned by rote memorization,” Combeferre pointed out. “It will take an understanding of children that is deeper than what we have now.”

‘ _A worthy project,’_ Enjolras thought, tapping Combeferre’s shoulder before the latter went to spar with Joly. He saw Armand find a seat on a bench, pensively watching as his father conversed animatedly with Bossuet and Grantaire. “Something troubling you, Armand?” Enjolras asked, going to stand next to the boy.

Armand looked up at his godfather. “Nothing much.”

Enjolras shook his head as he also sat on the bench. “Your father has talked with you about your new stepmother?”

Armand nodded. “I like her very much…” he trailed off before looking down with an embarrassed expression. “Please don’t tell my father about it, Uncle.”

“Tell your father about what?”

“It won’t be as fun anymore when she, I mean Aunt Charlesette, moves in.”

Enjolras looked at the boy bemusedly. “What do you mean?”

“Papa does not fuss about what time I go to bed or make me always do things because he says so,” Armand said, shrugging his shoulders. “We get to do things together, but that’s not going to be the same when there’s a lady there who wants us to always act proper like how I see my friends’ mothers are with them.”

“That is understandable, but you may find yourself rather surprised with Citizenness Karolyn,” Enjolras pointed out. “She is a very intelligent woman, and more importantly she cares for you and your father deeply.”

“I know, but I don’t want things to be different.”

“That will be up for the three of you to figure out on your own.”

Armand let out a deep sigh. “Is it true that Neville and Jacques were already born before you and Aunt Ponine got married?” he asked after a few moments.

“Yes. That is a complicated story, but what happened in the past does not change the fact that they are family,” Enjolras said firmly. ‘ _The truth will have to be spoken about eventually, but not today,’_ he decided silently even as he and Armand now turned their attention to where Combeferre and Joly were now beginning to spar.

After about an hour more of watching his friends spar as well as joining a match against Grantaire and another versus Bossuet, Enjolras made his way back to the Rue Guisarde. As he stepped into his home, he caught a whiff of the aromas of herbs and garlic in the air. “How was school today?” he asked Laure and Jacques as they made their appearance from the study.

“Fine enough,” Jacques said, glancing to where Julien and Etienne also now emerged from the living room. “Ponine wants to talk to you by the way. It must be serious since she hasn’t allowed any of us in the kitchen to help.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras muttered; it had been a while since his wife had been in that sort of mood. He scooped up Etienne, who was clambering up the leg of his pantaloons. “How have you been the whole day, Tienne?”

“Aunt Zel was here,” Etienne reported. “She was sad.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he glanced at Jacques, who merely shrugged. “I’ll speak with Eponine about this. In the meantime you are in charge of the children till Neville gets back from work---let me know when that happens.”

Jacques cringed at this. “I was thinking of going to the Rue Richelieu today.”

“That is halfway across Paris, and it will be dinner in two hours.”

“Father, why can’t I go there if Neville gets to stay at work or in the Invalides?” Jacques argued. “I don’t think that Citizenness Calamy chaperones him and Ariadne either all the time, and I am sure that I will have one if I visit Imelda!”

“Firstly, the hour will soon be unseemly for a social visit, unless you are specifically invited for an evening’s entertainment,” Enjolras began, setting Etienne back down on his feet. His eyes narrowed at Jacques, who had now raised his head defiantly. “Secondly, we have discussed before the import of such courtship especially where the Spanish are concerned.”

“We’re in France, so it means differently!”

“Have you asked Citizenness Villanueva about her views on this matter?”

Jacques reddened to the tips of his ears and shook his head. “I still don’t think it’s fair,” he fumed before going back into the study, shutting the door more harshly behind him.

Laure and Julien exchanged glances before looking up at Enjolras. “Does he want to see that pretty Spanish lady, Papa?” Laure asked after a moment.

“Yes, but now is not the time to be visiting so far away, and on such short notice,” Enjolras pointed out.

“But Jacques is bigger than us, he can sleep later, and there are no classes tomorrow.”

“That isn’t the problem, _petite_.”

“Your Papa and I will talk about that, Laure,” Eponine chimed in, now stepping out from the kitchen. She sighed deeply as she adjusted the ribbon that held back her hair from her face. “Can we go to the kitchen please, Antoine?” she asked, now looking at her husband.

“Very well then,” Enjolras said, motioning for the children to go into the living room. He went with Eponine to the kitchen, where the air was permeated even more strongly with the aromas of herbs from a stew that had been set to simmer. He waited for Eponine to take a seat at the kitchen table before getting two cups of water for them both. “You think I am being too strict on Jacques,” he said matter-of-factly.

“A little,” Eponine replied. “He will be sixteen in a few months, and I s’pose now is the time for him to learn to be a little responsible when it comes to dealing with ladies.”

Enjolras crossed his arms. “What if he is in over his head? In Spain they take these matters far more seriously, especially among the more well-connected families in places outside of Madrid---which I believe that Citizenness Villanueva is part of. He may find himself being accused of a breach of a promise to marry or be said to have ruined this girl’s reputation. We cannot have that.”

“It is only a passing fancy!”

“I think not. We both know that even at a young age, in this family at least, these matters are taken rather seriously as well.”

Eponine colored slightly at this. “Do you really think he is that ardent?”

“He has the signs of it,” Enjolras said cautiously. ‘ _Best not to go into details, as I did promise Jacques that I would keep his secrets,’_ he reminded himself.

“I don’t see what’s wrong with him going to visit, as long as everything is understood. You’re right that he cannot go today; tomorrow would be better,” Eponine said.

“How do you propose to clarify this situation?

“I should talk with Clarita again and remind her that things run differently in Paris. Maybe your talking with de Polignac too might help matters along.”

“That would be wise,” he agreed. “My stance on this is the same as I have regarding Neville’s situation with Ariadne; Jacques is not to speak of marriage or anything serious to Citizenness Villanueva until he is finished with his education. It would also be wise for the girl to pursue something as well for her own betterment.”

Eponine nodded approvingly. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you refer to Ariadne by her given name. You already think of her as part of the family, don’t you?” she teased.

“Perhaps,” Enjolras said. He raised an eyebrow as he saw Eponine put a hand on her stomach. “Surely this is not the reason that you’ve been here all afternoon with your thoughts,” he pointed out.

“Just for a little bit after my sister visited with Cosette and Charlesette,” Eponine explained.

“I heard that Azelma was particularly affected about something?”

“It’s not for me to tell. What you should know that Charlesette asked me to be her witness at the wedding.”

“Courfeyrac also asked me to do so, for him.”

“That’s good, but is it possible to be at two weddings in the same day?”

Enjolras’ jaw dropped as it dawned on him what his wife was referring to. “Are you sure that Citizen Thenardier and Citizenness Gillenormand moved their date up?”

“Cosette and Marius checked where the banns were posted at Saint-Eustache, Saint-Denis and even Notre Dame,” Eponine said furtively. “What am I to do, Antoine? I really do not want to be at _that_ wedding, but is it right for me not to be there?”

“As matters stand, you are not under any obligation to be present,” Enjolras pointed out. “Your being at that wedding would be a show of support, which is contrary to the truth.”

“That’s not how people would see it. You know they’d go about saying things,” Eponine bit her lip as she put her hands on the table. “What kind of daughter would I be then?”

‘ _The one that Citizen Thenardier does not deserve,’_ Enjolras thought but he knew better than to voice this out. Instead he reached for her hand, waiting for her to calm down for a few moments. “Apart from that, is there a reason for you to be there?”

Eponine paused before shaking her head. Her eyes were a little wet when she spoke again. “Unless you count curiosity. I can think of many more reasons not to go. For one thing you’re certainly not welcome, I don’t want a scene with the children around, and I don’t want the bride glaring at me the whole time either.”

It was all that Enjolras could do not to smirk at the mental image of Celestine Gillenormand’s already dour expression growing even more sour under a veil. “I take that is settled then?” he asked, running a thumb along her pulse point.

“Not really, Antoine. I don’t even want matters to get that far,” Eponine said, moving her hand so she could grasp his properly. “Zelma and I didn’t find very much about all the fakes Citizen Thenardier was selling. I was thinking there might be some other legal way to stop it.”

“You mean finding an impediment?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“In some cases,” Enjolras muttered, thinking back all of a sudden on his conversation with their friends just an hour ago. “It all comes down to a question of property then,” he thought aloud.

Eponine looked at him curiously. “He doesn’t have anything he actually owns.”

“No, but if you recall, Citizenness Gillenormand has inherited a great deal of property,” Enjolras said. “Years ago, the law would have had Citizen Thenardier having rights over her inheritance and anything she would bring into the marriage. These days, all property from both parties would be held in common between them and would be dealt as such in the eventual passing of one ahead of the other.”

“You mean property like that big house at the Rue des Filles du Calvaire?” Eponine asked. “He’s more likely to have it sold if she goes first, heaven forbid.”

“Exactly,” Enjolras said, looking at her conspiratorially “It would be in _her_ best interest to keep that intact for whatever purpose, whether to pass on to her nephews or to give to charity. It does not have to fall into her spouse’s hands.”

“There’s a paper for that sort of thing?”

“Yes there is. It will take some work and research, but not all hope is lost yet.”


	65. The Consequences of Saying No to an Invitation

It took only a day till a specially engraved envelope was delivered to 9 Rue Guisarde, detailing the place and time for the Thenardier-Gillenormand nuptials on the 8th of December. “The cheek of him, addressing the boys as if they were still his sons!” Eponine fumed the following Monday when Gavroche came to visit. “I simply sent that invite back to the Rue d’Aligre, with the word ‘no’ written across it.”

“At least you sent it back; I turned mine into kindling,” Gavroche said cheekily, setting down the cup of tea he had been enjoying. “Waste not, want not.”

“How will he know that you are not coming to the wedding?”

“He’ll forget that he even sent me anything, like he always does.”

Eponine nodded ruefully as she stirred her own cup of tea. “You are going to Courfeyrac and Charlesette’s wedding though?”

“What, and the sky is blue?” The young detective laughed before taking another sip of his drink. “Someone has to send off the bachelor.”

“Laugh now, you’re likely to be the next one.”

“I’m betting on Neville. How’s he getting on with that English skirt of his?”

“Her name is Ariadne, you’d better start calling her that since it looks like she’s here in Paris to stay,” Eponine said reprovingly. She paused as she felt a hard kick on her left side. “Find a lady of your own and let’s see what you think.”

Gavroche snorted. “I’m not eager to wear that chain of lace just yet.”

“Unless it comes from a certain lady that I remember from your first case,” Eponine teased. “How is Citizenness Debault getting on?”

“She’s around,” Gavroche muttered, draining the last of his tea. “I tip my hat to her if that is what you are asking.”

‘ _Yet he wants more than that,’_ Eponine thought, but she bit her lip before she could say anything more about the vivacious grisette who had caught her brother’s eye two years ago. “Come by soon, and I mean before Christmas. We won’t get a chance to talk like this when Antoine and I are hosting that _Gros Souper_ ,” she said after finishing her own cup.

“How did you get pulled into hosting that one _again_?”

“We cast lots for it, and I s’pose it’s only right since Monique and Louis will also be coming up here for the holidays.”

“You’re going to need more than thirteen desserts to feed the entire lot of us,” Gavroche quipped, now picking up his hat and donning his coat, which he’d flung onto a chair. “You’d better watch your nut till the wind blows me this way again. You might want to ask Enjolras to stay here at home with you for a bit,” he said.

“Why, is something wrong?”

“Not with you two. It’s with that man I share a surname with.”

“He’s been here before, he won’t come knocking again,” Eponine pointed out, only to see Gavroche cock his head skeptically at her. “I’ll talk with Antoine about it later when he gets home. Thank you for the warning,” she said at length.

“My pleasure,” Gavroche said, miming tipping his hat to her before he left the kitchen and bid goodbye to little Etienne on his way out of the house.

Eponine sighed as she heard the front door shut, and then nodded to Etienne who was toddling into the kitchen. “I s’pose you should stay within sight till I can figure out what to do about this,” she said as she helped the youngster onto a chair. As she set about preparing lunch, she found herself mulling about her brother’s words, especially his cryptic warning. ‘ _Is it just something he is worried about or does he know a thing or two he can’t talk about yet?’_ she wondered silently as she put some chopped potatoes, carrots and a handful of beans into a dish of sliced meat to let them all cook together on the stovetop.

Just as she was washing her hands, she heard the sound of a key turning in the front door. “Antoine? Is everything well?” she asked, peering out of the kitchen even as she saw Etienne scramble off his chair and run into the hallway.

“Yes, I just finished a client visit near here,” Enjolras answered from where he had just scooped up Etienne by way of greeting. “And you?”

“You just missed Gavroche by a few minutes,” Eponine said in a level tone, even as she took in the sight of her husband’s rather grim countenance while he helped Etienne straighten out his clothes before letting him run into the living room. She took Enjolras’ hand to lead him into their study, where she shut the door. “What really happened today?” she asked in a hushed voice.

“After that visit to my client, I passed near Saint-Sulpice and saw Citizen Thenardier waiting there,” Enjolras replied. “He was alone.”

“Did he attempt to talk to you?”

“I do not believe he saw me, but I made sure to take a more circuitous route back here.”

Eponine swallowed hard. “I s’pose that’s why Gavroche told me to be careful, and even suggest that you stay here at home for a while. He didn’t say how long though.”

“Probably till he gives up on finding an explanation for your reply in the negative,” Enjolras deadpanned. “Which is, from what we know of him, indefinite.”

“You know I can manage things, even in this condition,” she said, looking down at the swell of her middle. “I know what Gavroche means, but you have to be at work, and I do have to run errands and deliver my translations,” Eponine pointed out.

“What are you proposing then?”

““We don’t have to do it now, but I s’pose one of us should meet the children at school, then once everything is settled here at home, we pay a visit to the Rue d’Aligre.”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed. “A visit in the evening?”

“Have you got any other ideas?”

“I was thinking a strongly worded or even notarized letter would suffice.”

Eponine shook her head. “You know he does not have any respect for paper, not unless something like the police or lawyers backs it all up.”

“While a visit in-person would also have the same effect unless we brought the Prefecture with us,” Enjolras argued. “As irksome as this situation is, this is not worth the risk to you or our child,” he added more tersely.

Before Eponine could protest, she felt a stronger kick near her navel, prompting her to move her hand downwards. “Looks like you agree with your father on this one,” she muttered, seeing now out of the corner of her eye how Enjolras’ worried expression was turning into one of amusement. “What are we to do?”

“We can draft the letter this afternoon, but I believe you should accompany me to the Marais this evening,” Enjolras said. “Courfeyrac, Bossuet and Pontmercy will meet us there.”

“What for?”

“We will speak with the elder Citizen Gillenormand about the plan we have in mind.”

Eponine put her hands akimbo. “And what if Citizen Thenardier is there?”

“I am certain that he will not attempt anything with Citizenness Gillenormand watching, and his presence there would mean that he is not in the Latin Quartier,” Enjolras pointed out.

“This plan of yours won’t take very long, will it?” Eponine asked. “I worry we might not have very much time to see it through.”

“That depends on Citizen Gillenormand the elder’s cooperation,” Enjolras said. “If that will not be guaranteed, then by all means we will visit the Rue d’Aligre---with some assistance at least from either Gavroche or Bahorel.”

“I s’pose that will do, provided nothing else happens,” Eponine agreed. She glanced to their writing desks piled high with books and papers. “Will you write the letter, or I will?”

“I’ll do it. That way he’ll know there’s two of us to deal with, and not just one,” Enjolras said, taking her hand to lead her to their workspace.


	66. Misplaced Generosity

At seven o’clock of that same day, a fiacre was seen approaching the door of 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire. Inside this conveyance, both Eponine and Enjolras were quiet, having spent most of their trip lost in their respective thoughts. It was only when the carriage came to a stop that Eponine cleared her throat. “I hope it wasn’t a bad idea to leave the children to their own devices at home.”

“That’s why we only left when Neville arrived, so that both he and Jacques can lock the house up and make sure that Laure, Julien and Etienne get to bed safely and on time,” Enjolras answered confidently, letting Eponine slip her hand into his as they alighted from the carriage.

“Safely is one thing, on time is another,” Eponine said. She took a deep breath as she looked at the large house, which had fewer windows aglow than before. “I never thought of how this place might be like without our friends living here. Suddenly it doesn’t seem so grand after all.”

“A mostly empty shell, rather,” Enjolras said to himself as they knocked on the door, which was soon opened by Basque the porter. “Good evening Citizen. Has Citizen Pontmercy arrived?’ he greeted cordially.

“Monsieur the Baron is with his friends in the old study,” Basque said stiffly. “Monsieur Gillenormand will join you all shortly.”

“Thank you, Citizen,” Enjolras said, just managing to keep a straight face at this very outdated form of address as they were shown to the side room that till recently had been Marius’ office. “Our apologies for being a little late, my friends,” he said by way of greeting to Marius, Courfeyrac, and Bossuet, who were all seated around a table and sipping coffee.

Courfeyrac looked worriedly from Enjolras to Eponine. “If you’re both here, who’s watching all the children?” he asked.

“Neville is in charge, with Jacques as his second. They do know not to open the place to anyone who knocks, not while we are away,” Eponine explained as she and Enjolras found their seats. “I s’pose you’re here because we need a lawyer who’s not connected here by blood, marriage, or business?”

“Yes, I am the disinterested party in this picture,” Courfeyrac said with a grin. “If the Sorbonne admitted women, I think you and Charlesette in particular would be formidable.”

“That is evident, given by how she began co-authoring legislation at an age when most of us were still up to boarding school antics,” Enjolras said, only to see Eponine redden slightly under her hair, which was coming undone from its usual updo. “As for tonight, how do matters stand so far?” he asked, looking now to Marius.

“Grandfather is eager to discuss anything to do with my aunt’s marriage, but he is confused as to why so many of us are required to draw up a contract,” Marius said. “I explained it as my being here is looking out for him and my aunt, Bossuet’s presence is purely for business and his knowledge of our family’s assets, while you and Eponine will be arbiters or advocates for Citizen Thenardier and what heirs he has. Courfeyrac will draw up the contract.”

“As it should be,” Enjolras said even as the study door opened. He nodded to the very elderly gentleman who now made his entrance, stopping halfway to give his arm to Marius. “Good evening Citizen Gillenormand,” he greeted cordially.

Luc-Esprit Gillenormand squinted at him from behind a pair of spectacles. “Marius my boy, which friend of yours is this again?”

“Enjolras. He is here with his wife,” Marius said loudly. “Also here are Bossuet of course, and our other friend Courfeyrac.”

“What’s this, a meeting of lawyers and a lawyeress?” Luc-Esprit Gillenormand chuckled. His laugh, though still hearty, had a slight rasp to it. “It’s good that you keep the happy lovers out of it, and not let this drudgery step upon their felicity.”

“They will have to be called in eventually, perhaps not tonight but in due time,” Enjolras said. “The question is that of protecting your daughter’s inheritance and property, since she will be bringing it into her impending marriage.”

“Ah, that!” the centenarian laughed. “Why it is arranged that they will live out their years here, three old souls sharing the candle and hearth.”

“That is foreseeable, but there is an eventuality,” Courfeyrac chimed in. “Inevitably one will survive the other, and that will lead to some question as to the division of the estate---both hers and her soon to be husband’s properties.”

“Eh? What about it?”

“Should she outlive him, well there is little issue of that as what she brings into the marriage will remain with her. However, if the opposite happens, her holdings will have to be divided between her husband as well as whatever heirs she has---such as her two nephews. For certain there will be no natural children from this match,” Courfeyrac explained. “That can be very complicated unless an agreement is made prior to the marriage as to how to divide her inheritance.”

“Ah yes the airs of Pere-Lachaise really permeate this discussion! Well this poor old house is one thing; it’s a fine grand structure if fixed up and made worthy of banquets, but I do not know what use my daughter will have of it. Then there’s everything from her mother’s side, I am not particular to that but they have left her very rich indeed and in no need of an annuity like mine. Were she younger, she would not have any such cares---all that the youth wish is to love and be merry!” Luc-Esprit Gillenormand looked to Enjolras and Eponine. “I can see that you two are doing things as they should. Yes, the Republic needs the virility of young men to fight for it, but what about in peacetime? That is a waste, that should be passed on to sons who will love and marry in turn, who will find worthy ladies whose bosoms know no limit to generosity!” 

“As you have seen two republics in all your years, I’m sure you can speak with plenty of experience,” Eponine said curtly, crossing her arms over her chest. 

‘ _Some things never change,’_ Enjolras thought, gritting his teeth on seeing how the old man’s eyes were still leering a little too obviously at Eponine’s bosom. “What we need to know Citizen is if you, being the only immediate relative left to your daughter, are willing to draw up an agreement with her and her future husband. We also need your permission for Pontmercy and Bossuet to review the family’s books and accounts,” he said, fixing the elderly man with a stern look.

“Ah, do what you must with those. At my age, a man desires only to live untroubled,” Luc-Esprit Gillenormand said, waving a hand. “Marius my boy, when will you and Cosette ever bring your lovely children over to visit?”

“They are very busy with their lessons.”

“That is a pity. Please call in your aunt.”

Marius immediately quit the room and returned some moments later with Celestine Gillenormand. Luc-Esprit Gillenormand eyed his daughter drowsily. “Please show Marius and his friends the account books. This is in preparation for your marriage,” he said.

Celestine Gillenormand’s eyes narrowed behind her spectacles. “Why do you need them?”

“To secure your property and inheritance of course. You are a romantic yes, but you must also look to your future,” the centenarian said sagely.

The spinster stiffened at these words. “If you are talking about a prenuptial agreement, you should know that what is mine will be my husband’s, as he will be the head of me.”

“A head! As if you did not already have a fine one on your shoulders.”

“Saint Paul wrote that a husband is the head of his wife in a proper Christian family.”

‘ _Foolishness,’_ Enjolras thought, now looking straight at the old woman. “Admirable as this Christian sentiment is, there are still some practicalities that should be addressed, such as making sure that this house is not inadvertently divided between those who will remain,” he said. He smirked as Celestine Gillenormand’s eyes widened with astonishment. “This is certainly not the only concern that will be emergent.”

“It is peculiar that you are suddenly taking an interest in your father-in-law’s marriage,” Celestine Gillenormand answered, her tone dripping with scorn as she looked first at Enjolras and then at Eponine. She crossed her arms as she now regarded Luc-Esprit Gillenormand with a disapproving expression. “I will bring the books only because you wish it. Should I call in my fiancé?”

“We will look to everything first, and he will look to his,” Bossuet cut in. “That is, if he has anything to look for?” he asked Eponine in heavily accented Occitan.

Eponine shook her head. “None worth declaring, or that should even be declared,” she said, only when Celestine Gillenormand left the room.

“What is your father’s occupation anyhow?” Luc-Esprit Gillenormand asked her.

“He’s had many of them,” Eponine replied cautiously.

“Well for a man in love during his twilight years, the only occupation left is that of loving,” Luc-Esprit Gillenormand pronounced. He nodded as his daughter returned carrying several heavy ledgers. “Is that all of them?”

“Yes. I do not have any other,” Celestine Gillenormand said, setting the books in front of Marius and Bossuet before taking a seat. “I have been talking with Nicolas, and he has told me of some of what your family has had to endure,” she said at length, now addressing Enjolras.

Enjolras started, only remembering now Thenardier’s given name. “That is for us to know and for him to guess,” he said sternly.

“It appeared to me that you need assistance, especially for the children,” Celestine Gillenormand continued. “It would be unchristian of me not to provide some succor through a regular gift, some small annuity since you are family in a way.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “I should inform you that as charitable as this may seem, it is best directed elsewhere to those who do not have a roof over their heads.”

“I see!” Celestine Gillenormand said. “I was under the impression you were renting.”

“Not at all. We own our home,” Eponine replied. “What else did he say?”

“Why, that you are not receiving any help from your in-laws at all! I understand that they are far away, but with your current financial difficulties….” Celestine Gillenormand trailed off even as she saw Eponine’s eyes narrow. “Am I mistaken?”

“Very much. This was all on his word?” Enjolras asked.

“He means well!”

“Like hell he does,” Eponine snapped. “He’s here in the house, isn’t he?”

Celestine Gillenormand crossed her arms. “Calm yourself down, child. This is all a misunderstanding!”

“A misunderstanding that he should clear up,” Enjolras said pointedly. “The question is, tonight or some other occasion?” he asked Eponine knowingly.

“The sooner the better. First all those rumors about you, then that stupidity with Theodule Gillenormand, and now this!” Eponine seethed, getting to her feet and quickly leaving the room.


	67. His Tale, Her Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for gaslighting and mentions of child abuse

Even though she had not seen or heard any sign of Thenardier being at 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire, Eponine was sure that she could locate him simply from the smell of his tobacco. ‘ _That reek simply hangs about him,’_ she could not help thinking even as she reached the door of the drawing room. She bit her lip as she put a hand on the doorknob, and then looked over her shoulder to see Enjolras already a step behind her. “I won’t do it if you would rather have me not. It concerns you too,” she whispered.

Enjolras simply put a hand on the back of her neck, rubbing light circles there with his thumb. “This is your battle. If you ask me though, this is long in coming.”

Eponine nodded before turning the knob and pushing the door open. She wrinkled her nose at the odors of tobacco and stale perfume that seemed to fill the air, completely overpowering the aroma of wood burning in the hearth. Her gut twisted at the sight of Nicolas Thenardier ensconced in an armchair, picking at his nails. “I would not get comfortable here if I were you,” she said thinly.

Thenardier looked her way with an expression of surprise that soon shifted into one of scorn. “What does Madame the Grand Lady wish of me?” he asked, not getting to his feet.

“Only to know what you’re playing at,” Eponine said even as she heard Enjolras shut the door behind them. She kept her gaze trained on Thenardier, who was now sitting up straight. “I’ve just found out you’ve been saying all sorts of things about my family, especially my husband.”

“You must be mistaken,” Thenardier laughed. “You hear all sorts of things, my dear!”

“I heard them from your fiancée, that you two have been _talking_ ,” Eponine said, clenching her fists.

“I never said such a thing.”

“Do you want me to call her in and we’ll have it out?

The conman smiled patronizingly at her. “You must have misunderstood our conversation or at least her retelling of it.”

“She wouldn’t have done it if you had been just conversing, as you said,” Eponine said icily. “I s’pose that’s what you call spreading rumors these days and telling everyone that we cannot make shift for ourselves.”

Thenardier put a hand to his heart, now looking stricken. “Is it wrong for a father to look out for his daughter and his grandchildren’s welfare? How could I bear to see them in such dire straits especially with winter coming upon us so soon?”

“I’d think it would be that way, if it was just the inquiries and Citizenness Gillenormand making her offer,” Eponine countered. “Not with your giving Theodule Gillenormand the idea that it would be fine to send over presents, not just once but twice.”

“They weren’t fine enough for you?”

“Why did you do it?”

Thenardier sneered at her. “I thought of all my children, you’d be the one to marry sensibly and into actual money and not to some country bumpkin!”

Eponine shut her eyes for a moment, reaching back to catch Enjolras’ hand even as she felt his fingers ball up into a fist. “Funny thing to say, considering that my siblings and I spent our childhood in Montfermeil.”

“You know we weren’t always innkeeping folk. I was at Waterloo, if you remember?” Thenardier boasted. “What would your mother say if she saw you?”

“Nothing. She wanted me and Azelma to marry for love!” 

“She wanted you to marry a good soldier, someone respectable!”

“And you think that having a captain trying to tempt me away from home is respectable? I think you’ve forgotten that I’m married, and what that would do not just to me but to him as well,” Eponine fumed. “I s’pose she would have something to say about such scandal too.”

“Scandal, and breaking your old man’s heart as well,” the old man scoffed. “At an age when other men are in the warmth of a home, surrounded by the laughter of their grandchildren—you deprive me of that singular joy!”

“I don’t see why you’d be any good as a grandfather when you could hardly be a father yourself,” Eponine said, crossing her arms over her middle.

“I did what was best for you girls, you saw how I went without bread for you both!”

“Yes, while turning the boys out, not even getting a doctor for Mother when she was sick and using what coins that Zelma and I brought in to pay for your drink.”

Thenardier shook his head as he looked past Eponine, towards Enjolras. “See, you cannot even keep this hussy in her place! What good does all your lawyering do?”

“To keep my family safe from those who would harm them,” Enjolras said in a level tone.

Thenardier clucked his tongue even as he struck his breast dramatically. “I, harm my own family? After all the sacrifices I made for my own children, after losing their mother, after these years spent on the streets and in prison---you dare say that?”

Enjolras shook his head even as he discreetly took Eponine’s arm. “We’d better go,” he whispered to her in Occitan before he fixed Thenardier with a glare. “You’ve wasted enough of our time. Good evening to you, Citizen Thenardier,” he said more loudly as he firmly pulled his wife to the drawing room door.

“Antoine, I’m not quite finished yet!” Eponine hissed, trying to wrest her arm out of his grip. As she made another effort, she felt their child kick strongly near her midsection, as if in protest. “Really now?” she muttered, putting her free hand on her belly.

Enjolras gritted his teeth as he managed to get Eponine out into the hallway. “We weren’t getting anywhere with him,” he said, looking her in the face. “He was never going to give the answers you need.”

“I think I’ve learned enough—he just wanted to pull us apart!” Eponine seethed. “Why else would he have said those things to encourage Theodule, or get that horrid Citizenness Gillenormand to offer you money? He has never approved of you, and he never shall now!”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as he took her hand. “Your father’s approval has never been material to our decisions.”

“It’s not that.” Eponine bit her lip and looked down for a moment at their clasped hands even as she tried to blink away that hot feeling welling up in her eyes, more so when she finally met his deep blue eyes. “He hates you, more than anyone else in the world. I can’t imagine he would stoop that low.”


	68. Of Grandfathers

Enjolras knew better than to expect that the question of Thenardier’s antipathy would lie silent forever, even if Eponine spoke nothing of it on their return to the Rue Guisarde on that Monday night. ‘ _For now this matter is at a ceasefire,’_ he told himself on Wednesday morning as he was at breakfast with the rest of his family.

In the middle of everything, Laure wiped her mouth which was dotted with crumbs of brioche. “Papa, are Grandfather and Grandmother called that way because they are your parents?” she asked.

“Yes they are, why do you ask?” Enjolras replied, setting down his cup of coffee.

Laure scratched her head before looking at Eponine. “Where are your parents, Maman?”

Eponine choked and coughed out a mouthful of tea. “Why are you asking about them, little darling?” she managed to say once she’d caught her breath.

“Some of the other kids at school were talking about their grandparents. Most of them have four, except those whose grandparents are dead,” Laure said innocently. “Is that what happened to your parents, Maman?”

Neville cringed as he patted Laure’s back. “It’s not polite to ask about that, Laure.”

“It’s no matter, she’s old enough to know some of it,” Eponine managed to say calmly before looking at her daughter. “My mother died when I was young, before I met your father,” she said.

Laure nodded solemnly. “What about your father?”

Eponine was quiet for a moment. “He’s been away for a very long time.”

“Oh. Is he ever coming back?”

“I don’t think so.”

‘ _Rather, he probably shouldn’t,’_ Enjolras thought as he took another sip of coffee. He raised an eyebrow as Neville and Jacques exchanged looks and shrugged, while Julien and Etienne continued eating without seeming to notice what was transpiring around them. “It’s good for you to know that you have grandparents, but this is not something you should chatter about in the schoolyard, Laure,” he said sternly to the little girl.

“I don’t even know anything about them,” Laure pointed out before looking at Eponine imploringly. “Could you tell me more about them, Maman?”

“Maybe some other time, _petite_. You have to hurry to school,” Eponine said briskly before finishing her tea and then gathering up some of the breakfast dishes.

“You heard your mother. Now run along,” Enjolras said as he went over to help Etienne down before he could squirm out of his seat. Once the toddler was safely running after his siblings, Enjolras picked up some of the plates and then joined Eponine in the kitchen. “This will not be the last time she’ll ask about it,” he deadpanned as he put the dishes into a basin of water.

“I couldn’t very well tell her that my father is dead. That would have been terrible, even for me,” Eponine remarked as she scraped some crumbs off a plate. “I s’pose there is no right way of ever answering that.”

“For now it is better to be circumspect with the details,” Enjolras pointed out. He nodded by way of acknowledgment when she sighed deeply. “There is no need to volunteer information, unless she asks specifically about them,” he added.

“All the more she will be curious; she gets that from you,” Eponine said, giving him a withering look even as she put a hand on her stomach. “I really hope she does not ask the boys about the past, once she gets around to putting things together.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as they continued cleaning the dishes. “You know she will, sooner rather than later, and by then we should certainly be more equipped to give some answers.”

“I s’pose, but what can I tell her or even Julien and Etienne?” Eponine wiped her hands on her skirt before looking at him. “I could tell them a little about my mother and about the times when she looked out for me and Azelma, about the pretty dresses she made for us and the songs she liked to sing. I don’t think I should tell them much else. I could tell them a bit about my father and his better days, not that there were many that I do remember.”

“That is a start.”

“Should I ever tell them how it all really ended?”

“Not until both you and our children are ready for it,” Enjolras said.

“Will that ever happen?” Eponine asked wryly. “It took the better part of ten years to even get me talking this way about him.”

“In ten more years, Laure will be eighteen, and then she’ll be mature enough to handle some of the answers,” Enjolras said confidently. ‘ _That or she may forget about this,’_ he hoped silently even as he and Eponine continued cleaning up the dishes. At length he heard her take a deeper, more relaxed breath, prompting him to reach over to rub the back of her neck till she leaned into his hand.

Eponine turned to smile at him gratefully. “I know we’ll be fine. I can see it now,” she whispered as she reached up to slip her fingers between his.

“For once you are more optimistic than I am,” Enjolras said, kissing her lightly by way of affirmation before they finished their chores. After this, Eponine brought Etienne with her into the study to keep an eye on him while translating, while Enjolras headed to the Palais de Justice.

Much to his surprise, he found Riva standing outside his office. “Anything I can help you with, my friend?” Enjolras asked by way of greeting.

“Can we talk in your office?” the Italian asked in an undertone. He doffed his large hat the moment that Enjolras let him into the room and shut the door. “Does the Palais de Justice keep any archives from before the revolution?” he inquired.

“Which revolution?”

“1789. It isn’t too far back, I believe.”

“There is a possibility some records may still be extant, but I have doubts as to their condition,” Enjolras said. “May I know why the sudden interest?”

“I need to learn about any Venetians who were here in Paris in 1758 or 1759, which was around the time my grandfather was born,” Riva replied. “The only name that comes up often is that of Giacomo Casanova, but he wasn’t a patrician.”

“An adventurer and libertine, with a rather embellished memoir,” Enjolras deadpanned. “If my memory serves me rightly, a spy as well.”

“Well I am sure he sired someone, but I need to know if that is my grandfather,” Riva said, shaking his head. “It’s this, or I check if there were any foundling homes or orphanages. Maybe he came from there before being taken in.”

“We do not have records of those going back that far,” Enjolras replied. “Perhaps a church?”

“Weren’t many of those closed down during the Revolution of 1789?”

“Touche.”

Riva shrugged wistfully. “Maybe I am just looking for a diversion while waiting for Garibaldi to show up or send some word. Finding my grandfather’s past, especially now that he’s been dead for many years, is like that saying of finding a needle in a haystack.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Enjolras said. “Have you ever considered that maybe it was the lady who was Venetian, and not the gentleman?”

“The lady?”

“Your great grandmother.”

Riva shrugged once more. “I assumed maybe that she was a French girl who had fallen in with a Venetian on the grand tour.”

“It is not unheard of for ladies of certain families to be sent far away to conceal a pregnancy, especially if it was out of wedlock,” Enjolras reminded him. “For a patrician family of Venice, Paris would not have been beyond access.”

“It was a practice to send daughters to be secluded at a convent for some time,” Riva said. “I know that more of those were closed down during the Revolution.”

“There are still remnants,” Enjolras said. “Here and there some of the survivors of convents and orders that were broken up have found refuge in other cloisters. One of them I believe is the convent of the Bernardines in the neighborhood of Picpus.”

“How do you know of this?” Riva asked skeptically.

“My knowledge is second hand. I should introduce you to Citizen Pontmercy first, and then his wife. She is the one who studied under the Bernardines,” Enjolras offered.

“I’ll consider it if my search here is fruitless,” Riva said uneasily.

“Ah yes, that,” Enjolras muttered, looking through his desk for a fresh sheet of paper. He quickly scrawled a note, which he then handed to Riva. “This is an authorization you may present to our clerk at the archives section. He will assist you.”

Riva flushed red even as he held out the note to dry. “This is unexpected. Thank you.”

“On the contrary I think you knew what you were doing by coming up here. I wish you luck,” Enjolras said, nodding to the Italian. He waited for the younger man to close the door before he went to his seat. ‘ _He will find some answers, and I will seek mine as well,’_ he decided as he began penning a note to send to the Prefecture.


	69. Marriages of Convenience

_November 9, 1842_

_Paris, France_

_Dear Monique,_

_I hope this letter finds you and Louis in good health, and not totally overwhelmed with managing the harvest or preparing for your trip to Paris this Christmas. It will be a larger party for the Christmas Eve supper than ever before; I estimate we will have to fit about fifty people and a good many of them being children. The Thirteen Desserts will be such a treat for all of them. As to your question of any special requests, I think you remember how the boys enjoy both kinds of nougat. Etienne is now big enough to manage even that treat, so there will be no problem with having a great deal of it on the table!_

_Antoine is doing much better these days, and anyone would think that he had not spent the better part of last month recuperating at home. He has resumed going to trials and meetings again almost like nothing has happened. He is also going to be a witness at Courfeyrac’s wedding next month. So will I as well, as per Citizenness Karolyn’s request. Yes, you read it right. Courfeyrac has at last proposed to the one woman we know to be worthy of him as a partner and a mother of sorts to his son. For certain you will be able to wish them joy when you are next here in Paris._

_Neville is doing well with his studies and is beginning to distinguish himself at the laboratory. He will probably write more about it in his own letter. Jacques is also doing well, with a more literary bent than anything else. Laure is greatly looking forward to your visit as always, and hopes to hear more from her cousins in Aix; they made some sort of impression on her last summer, I gather. Julien is getting to be quite the prodigy in his class; he is very bookish like Antoine and not given to sports in the slightest. You can already imagine how that must be. Etienne is as sweet and curious as ever, and I think you will enjoy his company more during your visit._

_Please let us know if there is anything more we need to prepare for your stay in Paris. We are looking forward to it so much!_

_Eponine_

As Eponine set aside this missive to dry, she suddenly caught sight of Etienne toddling back into the study. “You done playing, _petit_?” she asked, reaching down to scoop up the boy.

Etienne grinned impishly up at her. “Maman, lady outside!”

‘ _Who on earth could it be?’_ Eponine wondered as she got to her feet, carefully balancing Etienne on her hip as she went to the front door. “Clarita! I didn’t know you’d call this morning,” she greeted amiably upon seeing the Spaniard.

“Do you have a moment?” Clarita asked, pushing back her brown mantilla even as Eponine stepped into the house. “I hope this is not a bad time.”

“I was doing some translations, but I need a few minutes away from the desk,” Eponine said, gesturing to the study even as she went with Clarita and Etienne into the living room. “Do you want to have something to eat?” she added as she set Etienne down and sat on the settee.

“Maybe later,” Clarita replied as she took a seat. She shifted nervously before looking at Eponine again. “I want to let you know that I am thankful for all that you, _Se_ _ñor_ Enjolras and your friends have done for me, my family and our friends. But you know that even all these guarantees can only go so far in securing our situation here in France,” she began. “Just to make you understand, I should let you know why Audric married me in the first place.”

“Because he was an _émigré_ and I s’pose out of love too?” Eponine guessed.

Clarita nodded. “You see what I mean. Now it’s not me asking this; you’ll already figure out whose idea it was when I mention my question, but I just want to know: aside from age, is there any other reason why Jacques and my cousin Imelda shouldn’t marry?”

Eponine sighed deeply, placing her hand on her stomach when she felt her baby kick. “It was Imelda who asked, wasn’t it?”

“She’s besotted by him, and she knows that Jacques’ brother is seriously courting that English girl,” Clarita pointed out. “I think there’s more than age to it.”

“Is your cousin aware that whatever the situation with Neville and Miss Wright, it will not proceed to any talk of marriage till Neville is already established?”

“Established?”

“My husband and I agreed that Neville should finish school and set himself up at work first,” Eponine said. She nodded when she saw Clarita’s jaw drop. “That is the truth.”

“That will be about three years, more!” Clarita whispered. “Can they wait that long?”

“I s’pose they should.”

“But you were eighteen when you got married!”

“Yes, and my husband was twenty-six and already a lawyer and legislator,” Eponine pointed out. “And I don’t regret a bit of it, but if I’d been able to go to school the way I hope my daughter will someday, I might have waited a little longer to also be able to make something of myself too.”

Clarita looked at her perplexedly. “But you’re already a translator, you’ve written so many things, you’re so involved in politics. How is that not something?”

“It’s things that I had to learn the hard way, on my own. It was that or my siblings and I would have been adrift, with no place in the world,” Eponine replied. The recollection of those difficult days so many years ago had her biting her lip before she spoke again. “I was lucky, luckier than many girls my age. I made friends like Claudine and Musichetta, who always believed in me and helped me do better. I had an employer who let me _learn_ things, just as well as her own son did. I fell in love and married a man who saw me—and still sees me as his equal. I cannot say everyone had that same lot I did.”

“It’s a rare case,” Clarita agreed. “But would you say that Imelda is worthy of Jacques?”

“Worthy?”

“Ready to be a wife.”

‘ _She really will not stop with this line of thought,’_ Eponine realized, feeling a slight ache building in her temples. “What does that mean for you?”

“Well she is accomplished: she reads well, she is pious, she can sew, play music, dance a bit and knows something of conversation. She also knows how to manage a household,” Clarita said with a shrug. “Much like myself before I married, only younger.”

“I s’pose that’s fine if she means to be at home all day and intends to be supported solely by her husband. That will simply not do for most of us here in France,” Eponine pointed out.

“You expect her to go out and work?!”

“If she wants to, but I’d really rather she know something of the value of it at least. It would also do her good to understand something of what more women go through.”

Clarita fiddled with her mantilla for a few moments, all the while regarding Eponine pensively. “I know you wrote about equality for women, but I didn’t think you believed it extended them to working just as the men do,” she whispered.

“It’s always been that way for needlewomen, laundresses, cooks, weavers, and just about any woman who’s had to work a farm,” Eponine said, putting one hand akimbo. “Or did you forget they were women too?”

“That’s a different case. Ladies shouldn’t have to worry about such menial things.”

“I don’t see the difference between them and a lady except for a bit of money and maybe a surname to go with it.”

Clarita paled slightly even as she nodded. “I shall have to tell Imelda that it is a ‘no’?”

“A ‘no’ to a marriage, for now,” Eponine said. “The same conditions that my husband and I have for Neville will also apply to Jacques.”

“Thank you for making it clear,” Clarita murmured, now getting to her feet. “I’m sorry for disturbing your work day, _Señora_.”

“Clarita----” Eponine began but the younger woman was already rushing out the door. ‘ _Now that’s done it,’_ she thought, cringing inwardly as she now crossed back to her study.


	70. A Wife from the Proverbs

“Let me clarify what you are asking. You wish for us to investigate Citizen Thenardier’s assets for the purposes of drawing up a prenuptial agreement for Citizenness Gillenormand?”

Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Marius, and Bossuet exchanged looks before nodding in unison at Bahorel. “It is but a matter of due diligence,” Enjolras said, sitting back in his chair at his office in the Palais de Justice. “We already have an idea of what he actually declares, but that information has to be corroborated.”

“This is a lot of effort for due diligence!” Bahorel laughed. “Most people dash these papers away to have them done with, then off to the notary and the priest.”

“In this case there isn’t much dashing to be had, considering who the parties are,” Bossuet muttered. “How long do you think this will take?”

“The better part of a week, at most. Are you in haste?”

“We are, the rest of the world isn’t,” Marius said. “I am still working with my aunt to get some exact valuation on her property, especially the jewelry. She is exacting about this, and since it is Friday I consider this week lost.”

‘ _A delaying tactic more likely,’_ Enjolras decided quietly as he got to his feet. “Once again we are in your debt,” he said to Bahorel.

“Serve me good wine at your wedding feast, Courfeyrac, and a good portion of the cake this coming Christmas at the great supper at your house, Enjolras,” Bahorel said with a grin. “I’ll think of some favor to ask from you two,” he quipped at Marius and Bossuet.

“Let me walk you out; I will get you a drink before you go to the Prefecture and I return to my drudgery,” Bossuet said, getting up now to sling an arm around Bahorel’s shoulders. “To a happy weekend, my friends!”

Marius saluted gravely before sighing as he looked at Enjolras and Courfeyrac. “This leaves me to return to my aunt. Hopefully she doesn’t keep me too late this afternoon, since Cosette said she has a surprise for me this evening. What about you two?”

Enjolras gestured to some freshly written pages on his desk. “Rewriting this chapter and editing a few others.”

“Some case work,” Courfeyrac said. “Will you need assistance?”

Marius shook his head. “I’ll let you know if some persuasion is needed. Thank you again, all of you,” he said before quickly leaving the office.

Courfeyrac nodded approvingly. “It is good to see Pontmercy finally growing up a little. Ironic for one who has been married longer than most of us,” he remarked.

“Some men never reach that point either; that’s what keeps your law practice alive,” Enjolras pointed out.

“I hope better for friends,” Courfeyrac said even as a knock sounded on the door. “It is unlocked,” he called.

“I was told I’d find you here, Citizen de Courfeyrac,” a gravelly voice said in Occitan. A stocky grey-haired man in travelling clothes soon made his appearance, shaking dust off his hat. “I am sure you remember me. I am Citizen Astruc.”

“The administrator of my parents’ estate,” Courfeyrac said with a nod. “Here with me is my friend Citizen Enjolras.”

“A pleasure to meet you. You are that legislator?” Astruc said, coming forward to shake Enjolras’ hand firmly.

“Formerly. That was finished some five years ago,” Enjolras replied warmly. “What brings you here to Paris, Citizen?”

“Some matters concerning the estate, and your parents’ wishes,” Astruc answered, now addressing Courfeyrac, but with his nose slightly turned up. “News has reached them that you intend to enter into a marriage.”

“Yes. I am sure that the lady, Citizenness Charlesette Karolyn, is known to them as she is also from Auch,” Courfeyrac said.

Astruc nodded gravely. “You know that this was not their plan.”

“I have been aware that for the past nine years, I have deviated from it,” Courfeyrac replied gamely. “What is that they want?”

“Your parents have sent me to bring you back to Auch for the wedding festivities,” Astruc said. “However, the boy may not come along.”

“You mean my son Armand,” Courfeyrac corrected. “I have made it clear before that he and I are joined at the hip; he goes where I go.”

Astruc shook his head. “Still you do not repent of this foolishness! How certain are you that he is even your own?”

“If you care to meet Armand, you will have no doubt as to his parentage,” Enjolras cut in, seeing Courfeyrac grow livid. “As for my friend, his stance remains firm.”

“Yes, such resolve is characteristic of a de Courfeyrac,” Astruc said, holding out a hand and stepping back to get away from Enjolras’ glare. “Is there no way to let the boy stay with a patron?”

“Out of the question. I will not send my son away just to gratify my parents’ wishes,” Courfeyrac said, his usually lilting voice now taking on an edge of steel.

“Had it been up to your parents entirely, your match with that Citizenness Karolyn would be disapproved; you are lucky that their consent is no longer needed for the wedding to proceed!” Astruc barked. He sighed and wiped his face as Courfeyrac looked at him perplexedly. “I’m a father myself, and I have known you since you were a boy. You want the best for the child, I understand. But you cannot get it by arguing with both feet in the door.”

“What do you mean exactly?”

“Your parents may…reconsider their harshness if you bring the boy with you to Auch, but there should be no talk of an engagement with that Citizenness Karolyn. It would show some necessary deference, and you can have them sponsor the boy’s education and upbringing. It will give him more advantages than what you can give him here in Paris, on your lawyer’s wages.”

Courfeyrac shook his head. “That is also impossible. There is no guarantee that he will be on a parity with his cousins; I know my parents too. Therefore, Citizenness Karolyn and I will remain here in Paris, and continue to raise Armand here.”

“This match has no advantages! Surely you know that she has squandered her own inheritance, giving up her family’s lands to their tenant farmers!” Astruc fumed. “An heiress yes, in the past tense. Without any dowry, she is nothing but a hanger on to the de Courfeyrac name.”

“You mean the particle, which I have already dropped,” Courfeyrac said, squaring his shoulders and drawing himself to his full height. “If that is the case, she and I are equals.”

“A hoyden and a bluestocking! You intend to shackle yourself to that?”

“My good Citizen Astruc, I also remember you know the end of the book of Proverbs, specifically that treatise on a worthy wife?”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face at the mention of this Bible passage. ‘ _The very same one that Eponine used to argue when we were in Rome,’_ he thought even as he patted Courfeyrac’s shoulder. “We should fetch a copy to refresh his memory,” he said to Courfeyrac in an undertone.

“I remember it very well, Citizen,” Astruc said curtly before sneering at Courfeyrac. “A wife of noble character does not apply to Citizenness Karolyn. What sort of pride would she instill in a man, especially one of good breeding?”

“She is prudent in business matters; you cannot deny that her estate has done well in her hands. She has divided it up for those who rightfully work it and keeps only what she can justly administer for her own needs. Being grossly rich does not apply to her, and nor is it in the scripture. Everyone who has been in her family’s care has been provided for, and they will not go hungry this winter,” Courfeyrac said.

“Idleness. That sort of woman lives solely on annuity and squanders it on luxury.”

“I should think not. She has also invested in a well-considered venture and gives generously to charity. We will not want for anything.”

Astruc’s eyes narrowed. “Then what sort of mother will she be?”

“A mother whose sons—including mine---will praise her, and who will raise up daughters stronger than she is,” Courfeyrac said with a smile. “What more could I want?”

The older Gascon shook his head with disgust. “Once again you disappoint, Maurice de Courfeyrac. Do not say I did not warn you,” he said, jamming his hat on his head before turning to leave the office, slamming the door hard behind him.

Enjolras looked bemusedly towards the sound of Astruc’s now fading footsteps before meeting Courfeyrac’s amazed face as the latter sat down. “A fine defense, or shall I say offense,” he said approvingly.

“It is the truth,” Courfeyrac said over more knocking on the door. “How do you ever get anything done in this office?”

Enjolras shrugged. “That knock can only be Feuilly,” he said, going now to let the diplomat in. He paused on seeing Feuilly’s harried expression and reddened face, clear signs of having run a good long way. “Something new.”

“You’re needed, we’re both needed,” Feuilly said breathlessly. “At the Rue Richelieu, where the Spanish are staying.”


	71. A Most Horrific Elopement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for threatened miscarriage or discussion thereof

On most days when working from home, Eponine found it more healthful to take a short nap after lunch, if only to rest her eyes and her mind before returning to her desk. “Do try to get some rest too, Tienne. You’ll want to be up and about when the others get home,” she said to the toddler as she set him down on one side of the chaise in the study while she got in on the other end.

Etienne crossed his arms defiantly. “Maman, no nap!”

“Just for a few minutes, please!” Eponine insisted, kicking off her shoes and then shutting her eyes. She sighed deeply over more of Etienne’s protests even as she willed herself to fall into slumber, but just when she was a moment from actually doing so she heard a loud pounding on the door. “What now?” she muttered as she got up and went to the door, not bothering to stuff her feet back into her shoes.

Standing outside the house was a short man, whose balding pate was covered in sweat. “Citizenness Enjolras, I presume?” the man greeted.

Eponine nodded. “You’re Citizen Guillot, from the higher school. You taught my boys last school year.”

“And still do, in the case of Jacques,” Guillot said, wiping his face. “I’m here on his account.”

“Why, what has happened?”

“He said he was coming home, that is here, for lunch. He has not reported back for his afternoon lessons.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped. “But he never said a thing to me about that this morning!” she exclaimed. “Did he leave with anyone?”

Guillot shook his head. “He was alone.”

‘ _If he met an accident or something on the way, surely there must have been word by now since this isn’t a big neighborhood,’_ Eponine thought, willing herself to nod at Guillot and take a few deep breaths. “Please wait here, Citizen. I need to have a look at something,” she managed to say before turning to hurry back in the house, all the while feeling a pit of dread growing in her gut.

Upstairs, she tried the door of Jacques’ room, only to find it locked as she had already expected. She deftly pulled out one of her hairpins to pick the lock, only to end up wrinkling her nose on being greeted with the odors of unwashed socks and sweaty bedding. “When I find him, he’s bringing all of these to the laundress,” she muttered as she now took a quick survey of the clutter on Jacques’ desk, seeing now that some of his best pens and his inkstand were missing. She hurried to his closet, only to find that some articles of clothing were absent, including Jacques’ best suit. “Did he pack all of that in his school satchel?” Eponine wondered aloud, pinching herself twice only to realize that she was not actually seeing things, a moment before she felt her unborn baby kick strongly near her navel. “You know it’s trouble too, don’t you?” she murmured as she backed out of the room, taking care to lock the door.

She felt her heart pounding in her throat as she hurried back downstairs to where the perplexed schoolmaster still waited. “Thank you for telling me, Citizen Guillot. I’ll take charge of it from here,” she said in a level tone. “I’ll let you know once he is safe.”

Guillot nodded worriedly. “Will you need any help, Citizenness?”

Eponine shook her head. “I s’pose you need to get back to your other students too,” she said before quickly closing the door. She took a deep breath as she picked up Etienne, who was playing on the stairs, and brought him into the study where she sat down to write two notes. She threaded these on two loops of thread, which she then hung from the pegs near the door, where Enjolras and Neville usually put their coats upon arriving home. “You’ve got to be good for me a little bit, _petit_. We have to visit your Aunt Azelma,” she whispered as she scooped up Etienne once again.

Etienne looked at her confusedly. “Maman sad?”

“No, not really,” Eponine said, bringing him upstairs so she could bundle him into a warm coat and his shoes before also attiring herself against the rising autumn wind. Following this, she walked as quickly as she could towards the Odeon, not daring to let Etienne toddle even a short way alongside her.

By the time she arrived at the theater, her arms ached with the effort of carrying the now protesting toddler, and it was all she could do to push her way past a surprised stagehand watching the door leading up to Azelma’s workshop. “Zelma! I need you now!” Eponine shouted as she made her way up the long stairs.

“Ponine, what is it?” Azelma called, now opening the door to her workroom. The younger woman paled on seeing her sister’s wild and harried mien. “Something terrible has happened?”

“I hope not,” Eponine said, setting Etienne down on the workroom floor. “Jacques has gone missing. He isn’t at school, nor is he at home,” she said.

Azelma’s jaw dropped. “He’s playing truant to visit that Spanish girl who’s turned his head?”

“Some of his things were gone, including his valuables and his best suit.” Eponine nodded as her sister gaped back in disbelief. “You know what that may mean.”

“Is he crazy? He’s only fifteen!”

“I know, but does that matter to him when he knows that you and I were on the streets when we were that age?”

Azelma rolled her eyes. “He’s got that romantic streak from our mother, or he’s been completely turned with Jehan’s plays! What do you need me to do, since I think you’re set on finding him yourself?”

“Watch Tienne for me, and also meet Laure and Julien at the schoolhouse,” Eponine said. “Usually Jacques walks them home unless he tells me expressly that he has something after classes.”

“I know, Ponine. I do have to get Maximillien too from that same place.” Azelma immediately scooped up Etienne and nodded. “I’ll send Jehan to help you. Where are you headed?”

“Rue Richelieu to see the de Polignacs. He knows the address,” Eponine replied more bravely. “Hopefully I’ll be back soon and you won’t have to keep the little ones overnight.”

“If it takes a week, I don’t mind at all,” Azelma reassured her. “I wouldn’t want to be Jacques when my brother catches up with him.”

“I’d rather that Antoine do it; I do not know how I could do it without it ending in tears or yelling,” Eponine said. “Thank you so much for this, Zelma,” she added, allowing herself a hug for her sister and a kiss on Etienne’s brow before she rushed downstairs again to hail a fiacre bound for the Rue Richelieu.

When she arrived at the door of 75 Rue Richelieu, she found Clarita de Polignac waiting anxiously on the threshold. “I s’pose you can’t find your cousin?” she asked by way of greeting.

Clarita turned with a startled look on her face. “What are you doing here? Do you know where she is?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing, only about Jacques,” Eponine said. “He isn’t at school, he’s told his teacher he was going to be at home but he never showed up.”

“You then think he is with Imelda?”

“Well, who else?”

Clarita’s eyes narrowed with irritation at Eponine. “I know you don’t think much of my cousin, but you cannot blame her for your boy’s misbehavior. She’s simply gone out to get something for me to cook while Audric talks with your friend Feuilly upstairs.” 

“But you’re standing out here waiting for her. She’s been gone two hours, maybe three?” Eponine asked, putting one hand akimbo. She bit her lip when the Spaniard paled. “It’s awfully long for a walk or a few errands.”

“Maybe something’s happened to her. Should I call the police?”

“Why don’t you check her belongings first?”

Clarita rolled her eyes even as she let Eponine into the house but did not ask her up into the second floor as she went up the stairs. After a minute Clarita returned, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. “Her jewelry box! It’s gone.”

‘ _I’m surprised that she even kept jewelry at all from Spain,’_ Eponine thought but she bit her lip again to keep this thought in. “And I’m sure that it isn’t the only thing?”

“Some of her dresses, but I can’t tell since she left her room a mess!” Clarita exclaimed. “What are we ever going to do with her?”

“Find her and bring her back. You’d know.”

“I don’t know. What you don’t know is that she’s probably going to be ruined because of running off like this!”

Eponine gaped at Clarita in disbelief. “They’re fifteen years old, running about someplace in France with no actual money to their names, and you worry about _her reputation?”_

“You wouldn’t understand!” Clarita retorted. “If you had just let them be, then they wouldn’t have run off like this!”

“What did you want me to do, agree to the match?”

“A long engagement would have sufficed!”

Eponine gritted her teeth to keep from shouting at Clarita, yet at that precise moment she felt a sudden cramp shoot up her back, making her wince and double over. She looked up to see Clarita staring at her in horror. “What---”

“No, no. That cannot be good, you must lie down right away,” Clarita said, grabbing Eponine’s arm. She shouted in Spanish towards the stairway before guiding Eponine to a chair. “Please, you have to get help!” she called out once again even as de Polignac and Feuilly now appeared on the staircase.

“I’ll get a doctor,” de Polignac said, eyes widening at the scene before him, “Feuilly, you should get Enjolras, if you know where he is. Clarita, what on earth happened?”

Clarita shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it,” she murmured apologetically, looking first at her husband then at Eponine. “You’ll be alright. You have to be. I had something like that once, and I didn’t miscarry…”

Eponine could only nod even as she felt the cramping feeling begin to abate. “I won’t either,” she murmured, putting a hand on her belly to feel the child move even as she now heard Clarita ordering about for help to bring her to a bed.


	72. Bad News is Bad News

“It’s not a question of which is bad or worse. They’re both terrible.”

“Then tell me in chronological order.”

Feuilly took a deep breath as he looked at Enjolras while they were racing down the stairs of the Palais de Justice. “Jacques has gone missing, and so has Citizenness Imelda Villanueva. It is presumed that they are together.”

‘ _Of all things for those two do to!’_ Enjolras thought even as he searched his friend’s face for any sign of falsehood, only to find none. “Is there any word of their whereabouts?” he asked.

“When I left the Rue Richelieu, none. Which brings me to my second news,” Feuilly continued, maintaining that calm he had so practiced over the years as they now headed out the door and into broad daylight. “Eponine found out, she went to the Rue Richelieu and had some words with Citizenness de Polignac. The shock and stress of it all must have had an effect since she suddenly had some pains. Citizen de Polignac has gone out to fetch a doctor, to be sure.”

Enjolras shook his head. “Eponine is not too easily shaken. What really happened?”

“I was upstairs talking to Citizen de Polignac when his wife called for help. I didn’t see the gist of it,” Feuilly pointed out quickly. “It’s not unheard of for this stress to cause pains, then to resolve directly after. Leonor had a few episodes of those when she was carrying our Sophie.”

“A few episodes?”

“Enough to lay her up from time to time, but ultimately causing no harm.”

“One can hope that can be the case for Eponine too,” Enjolras said in a level tone, even as he now felt a familiar and uncomfortable clamminess in his limbs. ‘ _Now is not the time for this,’_ he told himself as he flagged down a fiacre for himself and Feuilly. All throughout the seemingly interminable ride to the Rue Richelieu he willed himself to dismiss that feeling of unease in his gut, which only worsened whenever his thoughts went to either Eponine or Jacques. He took a deep breath as the carriage now stopped outside the de Polignacs’ house on this famed street. “Only a few episodes?” he clarified.

“One or two, maybe more knowing how Leonor was and still is,” Feuilly said. “Eponine is…more conscientious. She will be fine.”

Enjolras clapped Feuilly on his left shoulder as they made their way into the house, where they were immediately shown down a narrow hallway, from where they could hear some talking in both French and Spanish. Enjolras walked more quickly towards the source of this hubbub, which turned out to be the two de Polignacs conferring with a doctor outside a closed door. “How is she?” he asked by way of greeting.

Clarita opened her mouth to speak first but de Polignac gestured for her to be silent and let the doctor speak. The physician, a distinguished looking gentleman in somber clothing, cleared his throat as he looked at Enjolras. “Citizen Enjolras, I am happy to assure you that your wife and your child are not in danger. That contraction of her womb has not recurred, and there is no bleeding. Moreover, the baby’s movements are very vigorous,” he said. “Despite this, bed rest for a week or more will be necessary to prevent any more untoward events. The lady must not have any sort of excitement or strain.”

‘ _A difficult matter at this time,’_ Enjolras thought even as he nodded. “Thank you for your help, Citizen.”

Clarita now stepped forward. “ _Se_ _ñ_ _or_ Enjolras, I am so sorry for what happened. If there is anything that my husband and I can do to help, we’ll gladly do it,” she said remorsefully.

“That will be discussed later,” Enjolras answered before going to a door that de Polignac had silently opened even as Clarita now pulled Feuilly aside to continue her diatribe. He paused at the sight of Eponine lying fully dressed on a bed, looking rather cross as she watched dust motes in a beam of sunlight above her head. “How are you feeling?” he asked, now going to her bedside.

Eponine turned to look at him with a mortified expression. “I’m sorry you got pulled out of work again, Antoine. I came here to ask about Jacques, and I think Clarita and I got out of hand, and that sort of pain has never happened to me before with the other three, at least not this early!” she whispered as she grabbed his hand. “I know I’m going to be laid up, when I _should_ be helping you look for Jacques!” 

“You cared for me at home for six weeks, even when I was being ornery about it. This will make up the balance” Enjolras said, earning him a wry smile from Eponine even as she put his palm on her belly. He breathed a sigh of relief on feeling the child twist and kick towards his hand. “As for Jacques, I admit that we will need assistance to locate him and the girl. Inasmuch as I want to personally search for him, it also will not do to leave you and the rest of the children in Paris during this time.”

Eponine sighed deeply as she squeezed his fingers. “We should let Gavroche know. He’d have an idea or so,” she began even as more voices came from the other side of the door. “That’s him now. I s’pose Azelma must have told him,’ she said after a moment.

“I take that Azelma has Etienne with her now?”

“Yes. She’ll also come for Laure and Julien at school.”

‘ _Another responsibility that Jacques clearly forgot,’_ Enjolras thought as he watched Eponine straighten her hair and clothes out before she sat up carefully and nodded to him. “It’s unlocked.”

“What a scene!” Gavroche remarked as he and Feuilly stepped into the tiny room. “There’s a possible lead from one of the servants; Jacques and Imelda were seen at the diligence station for the Vernon route.”

“Can they be sure?” Eponine asked, sitting up straighter.

“Well I’m leaving in a moment to talk sense into his nut,” Gavroche said, rapping his own head with his knuckles. He thumbed his nose at Enjolras. “In the meantime, you care for my sister.”

“While you watch yourself. Thank you very much,” Enjolras said, stepping aside to let Gavroche talk with Feuilly for a few moments in an undertone. He waited for the detective to leave before addressing the diplomat. “What was that about?”

“We cannot let either Sardou or Lamarre know about this,” Feuilly said. “Sardou is only beginning to recover now, and this would set him back, while we all know how strict Lamarre is.”

“Which makes him good at his work,” Eponine remarked. “But what does this all mean for Imelda when she is found?”

“At the very least a scandal by the reckoning of our Spanish friends,” Feuilly explained. “It won’t have any bearing on her status here in France unless she has committed some serious misdemeanors. It may make a poor case for future bids from other refugees.”

“What, now you diplomats will worry about the moral effect of Spanish girls on our young French boys?” Eponine asked.

“More of the legal effect; this may set a horrible precedent for marriages of convenience,” Feuilly said, looking at Enjolras pointedly.

“That will be prevented at least for Jacques,” Enjolras said. ‘ _It may also be necessary to discourage any further association between the two,’_ he realized, now tasting bile in his mouth at the very thought. He turned at the sound of more footsteps, only to see Prouvaire now making an entrance. “I take that my sister has sent you?”

Prouvaire nodded. “I heard at the door that you were ill too?” he asked, looking now at Eponine worriedly.

“Only a little strain, but I s’pose I should be fine with some rest,” Eponine said sheepishly.

Prouvaire let out a huge sigh of relief as he leaned against the doorjamb. “Any news of Jacques and his friend?”

“Gavroche has just left to confirm a sighting of them at the diligences headed north. They will probably be on the move even as we speak,” Feuilly said.

“A diligence? Why wouldn’t they take a train?” Prouvaire wondered. “Why head north and not say, to Provence.”

“They have almost no money for train tickets; they would not even get as far as Provence and even if they could, Monique and Louis will not help them,” Eponine said. “I s’pose they would be able to hide more easily by reaching a small town in the Ile-de-France by coach.”

“That is futile. No mayor or magistrate would conduct marriage rites for them without their documents and a license,” Enjolras pointed out.

“Not now. They could force it eventually, at least the Spanish could according to their custom just to save the young lady’s reputation from gossip,” Prouvaire pointed out. “It wouldn’t be valid here though?”

“Not in the slightest.” Feuilly said. He glanced over his shoulder to where the two de Polignacs were still conversing in the hallway. “I’ll put out this fire. You two get Eponine home.”

“Thank you once again,” Enjolras said. “Thank you for coming as well, brother,” he added, looking now to Prouvaire.

“You’ll need some help; I’ll send for Azelma to bring the children back later when things settle down,” the poet insisted. “You must allow us to invade your kitchen for a while.”

“As long as you don’t set fires _there_ , that should be fine,” Eponine quipped. She looked pleadingly at Enjolras. “Can we go home now, Antoine?”

“Yes, but you’re staying off your feet as much as possible till either Combeferre or Joly says categorically that all will be well,” Enjolras replied even as Prouvaire left to hail a fiacre. He took a deep breath as he sat beside Eponine. “How did you find out?”

“At first? Jacques left school at around the lunch hour and told the schoolmaster he’d be at home. The poor man came over to the Rue Guisarde looking for him after lunch,” Eponine said. She bit her lip as she clasped Enjolras’ hand again. “Don’t be too hard on him, Antoine. I think that maybe if we’d been less stern, he wouldn’t have gone this far.”

“If we won’t straighten him out, then who will?” Enjolras said more sternly. “We cannot condone such irresponsibility in our home.”

“It might take a few years till he gets enough sense. What will we do till then?” Eponine wondered aloud, leaning now into her husband’s shoulder. “It’s not as if we can just keep him from seeing her.”

“That would not solve the problem entirely,” Enjolras pointed out, reaching up to rub the back of her neck. “If it will not be her, it will be another woman. If it will not be about women, it will be another dissipation.”

“You’re making him sound like R on a bad day.”

“Which is what we are trying to avoid.”

Eponine scowled and shook her head. “Jacques is a good boy. He just has to learn to see beyond what makes him happy today. Maybe the right kind of partner can teach him that, like you did with me.”

“Your circumstances and his are completely different,” Enjolras said, even as he now saw Prouvaire signaling to them from the hallway. He scooped up Eponine from the bed, letting her throw an arm around his neck while he carried her to a fiacre waiting outside. After helping Eponine into the carriage, letting her lie down across one of the seats, he turned to see the de Polignacs watching them wanly. “We’ll let you know if they have been located,” he said to them.

De Polignac nodded gratefully. “Your brother in law can find them quickly?”

“The Prefecture will do its best,” Enjolras replied sternly before he and Prouvaire also boarded the fiacre. Much to his surprise, he saw Eponine motion for him to sit near her, at her head. “Are you sure?” he asked.

“It’s a long ride,” Eponine whispered, shifting to put her head in his lap before she shut her eyes. “I’ll feel better like this.”

“Very well then,” Enjolras said, reaching down to pull Eponine’s hair out of her face before clasping her hand. Throughout the long ride back to the Latin Quartier, Enjolras remained silent if only to keep from waking Eponine as she dozed. Now and then he looked to Prouvaire, who was softly mumbling to himself as if composing a poem. By the time they arrived at the vicinity of the Rue Guisarde, it was nearly five in the afternoon.

Much to Enjolras’ surprise, he saw that the windows were aglow with candlelight. “Looks like Neville’s doing,” he whispered to Eponine as he shook her awake.

“Not just Neville; looks like he and that delightful Ariadne have teamed up,” Prouvaire said, gesturing to two figures talking in the living room window. “That girl is a delight.”

“So it would appear,” Enjolras muttered, stepping out of the fiacre to help Eponine out.


	73. Summer Misdeeds Anew

As far as Eponine was concerned, the only thing worse than Enjolras’ being a stubborn patient was Enjolras being a worrywart when caring for someone. “I know the doctor said that I’d be laid up, but I s’pose he did _not_ mean I would be unable to move even to the privy!” she griped as Enjolras set her down on the couch in their living room. “You can’t spend the rest of the week just helping me move about!”

“We’ll get either Combeferre or Joly to give us an opinion on that,” Enjolras said sternly, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Till then, you are staying put.”

Eponine rolled her eyes before looking to Prouvaire, who was trying to keep a straight face at this scene. “I know Azelma did not have an easy time of it when she had Maximillien but was it really like this?” she asked him.

“There were some difficult days,” Prouvaire said. “Do you want to have the children back here now, or would you rather that they visit with me and Azelma till tomorrow?”

“I think it would be better if they came back home; it would be less scary for them that way,” Eponine said. ‘ _For sure they will have questions about Jacques,’_ she realized as she watched Prouvaire go off to confer with Enjolras. The thought of Jacques and Imelda heading off somewhere into the dark countryside was enough to send an ache into her temples, making her cringe. She put a hand on her belly to feel her child kick, finding some comfort in this familiar sensation.

“Ponine?” Neville’s voice asked from seemingly nowhere after a while. Eponine opened her eyes and blinked up at Neville and Ariadne, who were standing by the couch and watching her concernedly. “Prouvaire already went to get the kids, and Father is going to fetch Joly to have a look,” Neville added.

“I s’pose that would be so,” Eponine said wearily. She took a deep breath, only to catch a whiff of the aromas of onions and herbs in the air. “What did you two cook just now?”

“I’m not sure what you’d call it in France, but it’s really just sausages in batter,” Ariadne replied, shrugging a little unsurely. “I made some onion gravy to go with it, and Neville roasted some vegetables too.”

“Thank you. It’s nice of both of you, but you really didn’t have to do all of that, especially on an afternoon when you should both be enjoying yourselves.”

“There wasn’t much else we could do. The Calamys are receiving some diplomats at the Invalides; we saw Citizen Delaroche there for a while,” Neville said. “Then Miss Victoria told us both to run along, so we ended up here and found your note, so we figured we’d be useful while waiting for whatever news.”

“She has a note too for you,” Ariadne added, bringing an unsealed piece of paper out from a pocket. “It was rather queer, since she saw that the ambassadors were there, then wrote this down for me to give to you.”

Eponine quickly took the note, only for her eyes to widen at this single line: ‘ _May I call on you tomorrow? – VC’._ She pocketed the scrap and nodded. “Thank you for that, Ariadne. I s’pose you really should stay for dinner; those ambassadors never finish early. Then it would be safe for you to bring the reply back and tell her she can call soon, maybe Monday.”

Neville raised an eyebrow. “Is that really safe?”

“I hope it will be, and that things will be fine somehow with your brother,” Eponine said. She bit her lip when she saw Neville and Ariadne exchange pained looks. “It isn’t your fault, you two.”

“If it wasn’t, Jacques wouldn’t be going on about how unfair it is for him,” Neville pointed out. He shrugged as he sat on the floor by the couch. “I’m thankful that you give me and Ariadne the space to be, but shouldn’t Jacques have the same?”

“I never said that he couldn’t go about with that young lady Citizenness Villanueva; you can ask your father about the time he chaperoned them here, and I have even let Jacques call on her at reasonable hours,” Eponine said. “That’s not the same as thinking of marriage at this point.”

Neville’s cheeks reddened while Ariadne’s jaw dropped. “Marriage? But that’s not even legal at fifteen, even in Britain!” Ariadne sputtered.

“That’s part of the problem,” Eponine agreed. She snorted on seeing how Neville continued to go red up to the tips of his ears. “He could wait. They both could.”

“Wait and work for it, you mean,” Neville muttered. “He’s never worked a day in his life, and I don’t think last summer with Father counted.”

“What do you mean? Diplomacy is important work,” Ariadne asked.

“If he was _actually_ working that is…” Neville trailed off, only to clap a hand over his mouth. “I shouldn’t have said that!”

“You may as well have it out, since you’ve already started,” Eponine said, crossing her arms. “I s’pose, since Jacques was actually a little useful in Italy, that this has to do with Spain?”

Neville nodded awkwardly. “He courted three girls there, Ponine.”

“Three?!”

“Well that’s what he said, but don’t tell him I told you.”

‘ _Antoine certainly knew about some of that,’_ Eponine realized, biting her lip again. “Well now you’ve told me so, I s’pose I should let you know that in Spain that many families take these things much more seriously, especially for girls. They don’t have the same options that we do here in France or even in England.”

“Meaning to marry young, go into a nunnery, or become a spinster aunt,” Ariadne said. “That’s what I heard from Miss Victoria when she told me a bit about Spain during our geography lesson last week. I don’t think she cares for that country very much.”

‘ _If I was in espionage as long as she had been, maybe I wouldn’t like it very much either,’_ Eponine noted ruefully. Before she could say anything to this, she heard the front door open followed by Enjolras and Joly stepping into the house. “I asked Ariadne to please stay for dinner, since she cooked it after all,” she told Enjolras by way of greeting. “Nice to see you again, Joly.”

“Well it is her right to,” Enjolras said, nodding first to Eponine, then to Neville and Ariadne. “So far, there is no change, so that should be a good thing?” he asked Joly.

“It is a good sign,” Joly said, pulling up a seat even as Neville and Ariadne excused themselves. “You said this began with a pain in your back?” he asked Eponine.

“A rather sharp one, something like what happened when I went into labor with the others,” Eponine reported. “It didn’t happen again for several minutes after, but that was the end of it.”

Joly nodded before wiping his spectacles. “Did you have any bleeding?”

“None at all.”

“And did you pass anything watery or untoward?”

“Definitely not.”

Joly nodded once more before bringing out a long tube with an earpiece, which he placed on Eponine’s stomach. After a few moments he breathed a sigh of relief. “The baby’s heartbeat is very strong, and the movements too. I figure that this was just an irregular contraction. It is fairly common, and may recur as the pregnancy progresses.”

“Recur? Isn’t that a bad thing?” Eponine asked. “And it’s never happened before to me!”

“Perhaps the stress of the recent days and weeks brought this on,” Joly said sagely. “It would be good to rest as much as possible; I would advise against doing anything more than lying down and bodily necessities for the next few days. After a week, you may be able to resume light chores here but with assistance. You will have to take things slowly till the child can be safely born.”

Eponine swore under her breath, more so when Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “You know how terribly bored I am going to be,” she said balefully to him.

“A serious understatement,” Enjolras deadpanned. “Instead of having her abed for all that time, would it be feasible to let her stay downstairs here or in our study?” he asked Joly.

Joly sighed knowingly. “Whatever will have her moving as little as possible. There is no other way to say it, but I would strongly advise against having marital intercourse for the time being.”

Eponine bit back a laugh as she saw Enjolras go very red at Joly’s advice. “I’ll be good about it, I promise,” she said wryly, reaching for her husband’s hand.

“It seems as if we have no other choice,” Enjolras pointed out before nodding gratefully to their friend. “Thank you once again for coming over, Joly.”

“Anytime. We are neighbors after all,” Joly said more cheerily. “Now off I go home to tend to my own humors—with the help of Chetta’s chicken soup.”

“If that won’t set you right, I do not know what will,” Eponine quipped before the physician took his leave. She waited for Enjolras to come back into the living room before motioning for him to sit next to her. “Antoine, there is a thing or two you didn’t tell me.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “About?”

“Last summer. What did my brother really do there in Spain?” Eponine asked. “Neville told me a thing or two, and it involved three girls?”

Enjolras sighed deeply. “Mere foolish infatuations. One was the daughter of that poor Citizen Pasqual. Another was the daughter of Citizen Belmont’s housekeeper. The third, I hardly knew of, but I gathered that she was already spoken for.”

Eponine cringed at this list. “I s’pose, from the way you speak of it, that it was much more trouble than simply visiting or love letters.”

“It was. While there was no actual gross misconduct on Jacques’ part, he was rather remiss with some of his work as a result of his efforts being diverted towards courting,” Enjolras said. “It also led him to be remiss as a guest, which led to some trouble when we were in Zaragoza.”

The mention of this town had Eponine swallowing hard. “Does it have to do with what Citizenness Berlioz did to you?”

“Tangentially,” Enjolras said, touching her shoulder. “Do not trouble yourself overmuch about it.”

Eponine shook her head. “After what happened, and seeing how troubled you were? Why didn’t you tell me about it earlier?”

“A gentleman’s agreement that he would reform,” Enjolras answered.

‘ _Which he did not,’_ Eponine thought, shutting her eyes momentarily. “I s’pose you should never let him know that I know, or that Neville told. But what shall we do?”

“Firstly, let us make sure that he and Citizenness Villanueva are safe. Gavroche should have some word by tomorrow,” Enjolras said grimly.

“Then after?”

“We shall see, depending on the circumstances of their return.”


	74. The Return

By the next evening, the only word that came from Gavroche regarding his search was a hastily written note sent from Versailles about a lead he had found regarding Jacques and Imelda having been seen in the area. ‘ _From Versailles they may head southwest, perhaps to Chartres,’_ Enjolras noted silently as he reread Gavroche’s short missive by the flickering light of a candle in his room. He glanced over his shoulder to where Eponine was sleeping fitfully in their bed, before looking down at his watch which showed the time to be a quarter past midnight. “Gavroche will definitely know how to get the local police to cooperate,” he muttered as he folded up the letter, only to hear three loud knocks on the front door.

Outside, he found Gavroche standing on the step, with Jacques and Imelda a few paces behind him. “Once again, I deliver my catch,” the detective greeted snappily, smirking at the errant pair that looked all too ready to shrink into the shadows.

“Where did you find them?”

“About to board a coach for Orleans.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows at this information before narrowing his eyes at Jacques. “I will deal with you inside, while Gavroche will conduct Citizenness Villanueva to the Rue Richelieu.”

Jacques and Imelda glanced at each other in panic. “ _Se_ _ñ_ _or_ Enjolras, we can explain this perfectly---“ Imelda began in Spanish.

“That explanation is immaterial to me; save that for your cousin,” Enjolras said to her coldly. He nodded to Gavroche, who had grabbed the young lady before she could flee. “I am sorry that this has inconvenienced you, but you have our gratitude for bringing them back straightaway,” he added.

“They are birds, I am the cat that snaps them up. Good evening to you,” Gavroche said, making a mock salute before taking Imelda by the arm to lead her back to a waiting fiacre.

Enjolras looked at Jacques who was standing stock-still by the door, his rosy complexion now pallid with worry and fright. He waited for the boy to meet his eyes before bringing out his pocket watch. “I am certain that you have already comprehended what exactly you have done. If you have not yet, you have a minute.”

Jacques paled further. “Father, if you let Imelda explain—”

“A minute, Jacques,” Enjolras retorted, fixing the boy with a stern look. As Jacques once again trained his gaze on the floor, Enjolras took a moment to survey the boy’s slightly disheveled state; his clothes were wrinkled and tracked with grime in some places, and his hair looked in dire need of meeting a brush. He glanced back at his watch as the minute elapsed and then snapped the timepiece shut. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Jacques let out a deep sigh. “We were going to come back eventually.”

“When was that going to be?” Enjolras demanded. He raised an eyebrow when Jacques now reddened to the tips of his ears. “If your intent was to force our hands to agree to a match, you have done precisely the opposite of it!”

Jacques’ jaw dropped. “But her family---”

“Should have kept better watch on her,” Enjolras finished. “As for our part, we have given you concessions to allow you to remain acquainted or even attached in some manner, but you have abused these and our trust.”

“You don’t trust me the same way you trust Neville,” Jacques retorted.

“Your brother has so far adhered to his end of our agreement, which is to do well in school and conduct himself properly with Citizenness Wright. You on the other hand have played truant for half a day from your school, run away from home and put you and the lady in danger,” Enjolras snapped. “You are aware of the precarious state that her legal standing is in; Sardou may have been generous but I assure you that Lamarre will review this case and perhaps all other petitions for asylum in light of your disgraceful conduct and hers.”

“I was not going to make her my mistress!”

“Yet you would contract an invalid marriage?”

Jacques shook his head. “I do not see why something that is perfectly legal in Spain should not be legal here in France. Not too long ago, it was perfectly acceptable.”

“That was in an age when princes and princesses married in the cradle,” Enjolras said, crossing his arms. “We now live in a Republic, wherein opportunities should be granted to every man or woman. Part of that entails giving them ample freedom to study and advance as citizens before deciding on a state of life. You will be impinging not only on your freedom but on hers by forcing a marriage at an early age.”

“I have learned all I can from school, and I can work!” Jacques shot back. “We love each other, and that is all we need.”

“Will that be enough for you to give her the life she wants?” Enjolras asked icily. “Clearly you do not understand the import of your actions beyond the here and now.”

Jacques shook his head. “Can I speak with Ponine? She’d understand.”

“She is resting now, under doctor’s orders.”

“Doctor’s orders?”

“What you two have done has put her in a state looking for you,” Enjolras said slowly. “The strain may have affected her condition, and she must stay abed for her sake and the baby’s. Clearly you did _not_ consider this either.”

Jacques’ cheeks turned paler than before. “Will she be well? What about the baby?” 

“That remains to be seen.”

“I did not mean for this to happen!”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Do you believe that absolves you? I advise you think this over, and other consequences, for the rest of the evening.” He gestured to the staircase. “Proceed to your room now. Good night.”


	75. A Premature Proposition

Much to Eponine’s relief, it only took a little creativity to come up with a way for her to still be amidst the fuss and flurry of her family’s Sunday routine. “It’s not as if we have to worry about cleaning crumbs from a carpet, so I s’pose there is no harm about breakfasting, lunching, and dining here in the living room,” she observed as she made herself comfortable on the couch while waiting for the children to come down for breakfast.

“As long as this does not become a habit,” Enjolras pointed out as he set down on the table a tray of warmed bread with boiled eggs as well as milk and coffee. He glanced upwards at the sound of footsteps overhead. “Perhaps Jacques will not deign to join us.”

“He should, since when else is he going to get breakfast?” Eponine asked. She bit her lip when she saw Enjolras shrug as he took a seat. “Antoine, what _did_ you say to him?”

“I asked him to think over the consequences of his actions.”

“And what was supposed to happen with that?”

“If he believes he is old enough to contemplate marriage, then he is certainly old enough to comprehend the consequences of his actions,” Enjolras answered seriously.

“He is fifteen years old! What does he know at that age?” Eponine countered. “I s’pose you’re trying to make a point, but I don’t think he quite understands what you mean.”

“I think telling him about the effect this has had on you and the baby was enough to sober him up, to some degree,” Enjolras said, even as he saw Laure now troop into the room. “What is it, _petite?”_ he greeted.

Laure scratched her head. “Jacques is back but why isn’t he happy?”

“He’s had a long journey, so of course he’s a bit tired, little darling,” Eponine said.

Laure frowned even as she hopped up to sit beside Eponine. “But why is he saying that his freedom to love is being taken away?”

Eponine cringed even as she heard Enjolras mutter a curse in Occitan. “It’s something that we grown ups have to talk with him about, Laure,” she managed to say. “Don’t you worry about it.”

“Does that mean he won’t get to write to that pretty Spanish lady anymore?”

Enjolras shook his head. “It is much more complicated than that,” he said more tersely as Julien, followed by Etienne entered the living room. “Where are your older brothers?” he asked the newly arrived pair.

Julien pointed upstairs. “Neville is trying to get Jacques to come downstairs. Did he do something wrong, Papa?”

‘ _Now that’s done it,’_ Eponine thought even as she caught Enjolras’ irritated expression before he quickly left the room. She sighed as she let Julien and Etienne pile in with their sister on the couch. “We’ll have breakfast in a few minutes, once they are all here.”

Etienne shook his head. “Maman, I am hungry,” he whined.

“Can we just have a little bit?” Julien cajoled, pointing to the bread nearest him.

“I s’pose you should, just save some for everyone else,” Eponine said resignedly as she straightened out the boys’ clothes. As she divided up some of the bread among the children, she saw that Laure was watching her worriedly. “Is something wrong?”

Laure looked from her mother’s belly then back up to her face. “Are you and the baby going to be well?”

“We will. I just have to rest a little bit since these past few days have been difficult,” Eponine replied reassuringly as she brushed some crumbs off Laure’s clothes. Even as she did so, she saw Enjolras return to the living room, followed by Neville and a still sulky Jacques. “You’ll all feel better after having something to eat,” she told the trio.

Jacques gave Eponine a mortified look as he sat down. “I didn’t mean to make you or the baby sick, Ponine,” he said in a small voice.

“No one means for that sort of thing to happen, but you can’t just run off like that,” Eponine chided. “Your father and I were so worried.”

“I meant to write and tell you where we were, and when we’d come back,” Jacques said.

Neville rolled his eyes. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“It’s not as if you tell them everything that goes on with you and Ariadne,” Jacques scoffed.

“Enough of this. Anyone who wants to persist in arguing will have to cook their own breakfast and eat in the kitchen,” Enjolras warned, looking pointedly at Neville and Jacques. This seemed to be enough to quell the argument, since for a few minutes the only sounds in the living room were of chewing and cutlery clinking against plates.

After a while, Neville burped loudly and wiped his mouth. “May I please go to the Invalides for a little while today?” he asked Enjolras and Eponine.

“There he goes again,” Jacques muttered. “Always the favorite---”

“Well no one would make you a favorite at the rate you’re going,” Neville snapped.

“That was uncalled for. You’re needed at home today, since Eponine cannot be up and about until the doctors say that it is safe for her to do so,” Enjolras cut in sternly. “That goes for both of you,” he added, looking at Jacques.

Jacques hung his head despairingly. “You just don’t want us to see _anyone_.”

“You know that’s not true,” Eponine retorted. “Your father and I have never said that.”

“You don’t have to say it to mean it,” Jacques muttered, now getting up from the makeshift breakfast table and stomping upstairs.

Eponine grabbed Enjolras’ wrist before he could go after the boy. “Leave him be for a little while, Antoine,” she whispered. She sighed as she looked at the younger children, who’d been watching this scene with wide, astonished eyes. “We’ll talk with Jacques later, but you have to remember to excuse yourselves from the table next time,” she told them.

“Even if it isn’t the dinner table?” Laure asked.

“You know what your mother means, Laure,” Enjolras said, rubbing his temples before taking a sip of his coffee. “Perhaps you want to deal with him?” he asked Eponine.

“Not right away. He’s gotten a good talking to from you, and I s’pose from Gavroche as well,” Eponine said, squeezing her husband’s hand momentarily. Throughout the rest of the meal she listened for Jacques’ footsteps, but this proved to be fruitless even up to the moment that Enjolras and Neville gathered up the breakfast dishes, with Laure, Julien and Etienne tagging along with them to the kitchen. ‘ _It’s not as if I can tell him how it was when I was his age, since things were so different then,’_ she thought once she was alone in the living room.

Just as she was about to drift off into a light slumber, she heard a hurried knocking on the front door. “I’ll see who it is, Maman!” Laure shouted, bounding out of the kitchen and towards the door. She returned a moment later with a confused expression on her face. “A funny speaking lady is here to see you, Maman,” she said.

‘ _Certainly that is not Victoria,’_ Eponine realized even as she sat up straight and ran her hands through her hair in an attempt to tame it. “Clarita, this is a surprise,” she greeted the moment she saw the Spaniard walk into the room.

“I don’t think it is,” Clarita said, fiddling with her blue mantilla. Her olive complexion had paled and her usually merry eyes were hollow with lack of sleep. “I am glad your brother Gavroche brought my cousin back to us, safely. But that’s not the end of the matter.”

Eponine sighed deeply. “What is it that you need?”

“Well remember what I said about a long engagement?” Clarita asked. “After all that happened, with my cousin being away with Jacques for several days without a chaperone, I think that this will be necessary.”

“What! But they did not do anything!”

“How can anyone be sure? As far as everyone is concerned, my cousin is ruined!”

“Everyone meaning the Spanish who know about it,” Eponine pointed out. “Unless someone’s been squawking to people who have no business knowing about it?”

Clarita paled further. “You don’t understand. No man would have her now, if they knew what happened to her,” she stammered. “Jacques is her only chance now.”

“To save your cousin, you’d have me doom him, who is brother and son to me?” Eponine asked. “I cannot and will not do such a thing. He’s too young and he should be old enough someday to choose with more good sense.”

“What about your husband?”

“We are of the same mind on the matter,” Enjolras cut in, now making his appearance from the kitchen. “As his father under the law, I forbid it.”

“You will just let your boy seduce my cousin, and go unpunished?” Clarita asked accusingly.

“That is a rash accusation to make, especially as no proof of the matter can be provided,” Enjolras said. “I would worry more about the implications that this incident would have on the status of her bid for asylum and residency here.”

Clarita shook her head. “She was seduced. He lured her away from our house. My cousin does not know anything of that part of France,” she said stiffly. “Who else would have told her where to hide?”

“That is true, but it would appear that she went with him willingly and knowingly,” Enjolras continued with a steely edge to his voice. “Furthermore, it would appear that at least you consider her of sound mind and body, considering you first broached the topic of a long engagement. If that is so, then she is an accomplice in this matter and hardly a victim.”

“She is only fifteen!”

“So is Jacques.”

“You’ve heard him well enough, Clarita,” Eponine said, sitting up straighter. “And you know I should be resting. I like you well enough, but that doesn’t mean I have to agree with this plan especially if it concerns the children.”

“As someone who fights for women to be treated fairly, I thought you of all people would understand,” Clarita retorted bitterly. “Imelda will have no future, no prospects…”

“Why should her worth have to be based on whether a man will marry her or not?” Eponine asked. “I hope someday that it will not have to be so for her or for any girl.”

“Tell that to her; she’s been crying all day that Jacques will not follow through his promise to her,” Clarita hissed. “As of today, you and I are no longer friends, Eponine. If I had known this would happen, I never would have asked Audric to go to you for help all those weeks ago!”

“Clarita, wait---” Eponine began, trying to push herself up to her feet even as Clarita fled towards the door. She bit her lip and swallowed hard as she looked at Enjolras. “I’ve gone and messed it up. All those weeks of you helping Lamarre with their case, now all undone!”

“It may not be so,” Enjolras said grimly. He was quiet for a moment, clearly deep in thought, before he bent to kiss her brow. “I have to make a few calls today, but I will be back soon.”

“Where are you going?”

“To avert some worse disasters than this one.”


	76. Making a Tie Across Borders

It was just as well for Enjolras that Feuilly’s home near the Marche des Innocents on the other side of the Seine was only an omnibus ride away. As he arrived, he caught sight of his friend returning from breakfast, hand in hand with his six-year old daughter Sophie. “Good day Feuilly. Have you got a minute?” he said by way of greeting.

Feuilly’s eyes widened as he looked from Enjolras to Sophie. “Go inside for a while, _ma puce_. Your uncle and I just need to talk,” he said to the little girl once he regained his composure.

Sophie hopped up and down impatiently, making her long dark braids bounce. “Why can’t I listen, Papa?”

“Because it has to do with work.”

“If it’s work, why is Uncle Enjolras here?”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face even as Sophie dashed into their apartment. “Gavroche brought Jacques and Imelda back to Paris,” he said in an undertone as soon as the child had shut the door.

Feuilly breathed a sigh of relief. “How are they?”

“None the worse for wear, though at least Jacques seems recalcitrant about the matter,” Enjolras said, even as he recalled Imelda’s outburst ours earlier. “The problem however is with the Spaniards, or at least Citizenness Clarita de Polignac. The lady is of the opinion that a marriage should now occur between this errant pair.”

“Marriage?!”

“You heard it correctly the first time.”

The diplomat shook his head with an expression of utter disbelief. “Aside from them being too young, this will not do. It will set a horrible precedent, even if they were of age,” he managed to say after a few moments. “At the very least it will be a scandal if and when this gets out to the publishers. Does anyone else know about this?”

“The residents of the Rue Richelieu.” Enjolras nodded when Feuilly cursed under his breath. “That is a few people too many, I take that?”

“It is, it is,” Feuilly said, shaking his head once more. “We have to speak with Lamarre today. Would it be fine to let Sophie stay for a while at the Rue Guisarde? We were with Courfeyrac and Charlesette just now, and they will be out today getting a suit for Armand to wear at the wedding. Leonor is not in Paris again, and it will take time to find the others who can help.”

“I’ll have to ask Neville to take charge of her, since Eponine is still abed or to be more to the point, confined to the couch,” Enjolras said. He hung back as Feuilly reentered the apartment then emerged a few moments later with Sophie, who looked as if she’d hurriedly thrown on her hat and her coat. “I’m sorry that I had to interrupt the Sunday for you and your father,” he told the child.

“Papa said I get to play with Laure, Julien, and Etienne,” Sophie said primly. “But I heard that Aunt Eponine is sick?”

“She’s getting better,” Enjolras said, managing a smile at this display of concern. ‘ _If Lamarre is at his home today near the Rue de Buffon, this should be a quick venture,’_ he noted silently as they found an omnibus headed back to the Latin Quartier.

Much to Enjolras’ surprise when they arrived back at 9 Rue Guisarde, he could smell the aromas of roasted meat, butter, and cheese mingling in the air. ‘ _Which can only mean someone is cooking again,’_ he realized, already guessing who had commandeered the kitchen. “I thought that you weren’t supposed to be at the Invalides today, Neville?” he asked the moment he stepped into the front hall.

“He didn’t go there, I came here on my own,” Ariadne replied in a stage whisper, emerging from the kitchen with Neville and Laure in tow. “Mrs. Calamy sent me over to see if I could help, and to be honest, Sir, it looks like you need it.”

Enjolras pinched the bridge of his nose, even as he heard Feuilly quite failing to hold in his laughter a few paces behind him. “I am grateful for this consideration. How is my wife doing?”

“Taking a nap. Julien and Etienne are upstairs…” Neville began, only to be interrupted by the sound of footsteps running in the hallway. “Rather, were.”

“Sophie!” Julien screeched as he came down the stairs by way of sliding down the bannisters. “Neville said we can play upstairs.”

Sophie smiled primly. “Nice to see you Julien. What games do you have?”

“Maps and adventures. I want to listen to Neville’s stories,” Laure sniffed. “He’s been in England with Ariadne, didn’t you know that?”

Sophie blinked up at the stranger. “Is that your name? It’s really pretty.”

“So is yours, but we haven’t been introduced properly,” Ariadne said, now in more halting French. “My name is Ariadne Wright, but just Ariadne is fine. What about you?”

“Sophie Feuilly,” the little girl replied, making a slight but smooth curtsy. “You’re a very pretty lady, Ariadne.”

“That’s very polite of you Sophie, but just a handshake will do for most friends,” Feuilly said bemusedly. “You’ll find that my daughter is interested also in the arts,” he informed Ariadne.

“She draws too?” Ariadne asked. “You should show me, Sophie.”

‘ _Perhaps some good might come out of this acquaintance,’_ Enjolras decided even as the youngsters all retreated to the kitchen. “It would appear that Ariadne is dividing her time between two households at this point,” he observed.

“That is a match that I do not think anyone has objections to,” Feuily quipped, only to turn around at the sound of footsteps approaching the front door. “Why, that is Lamarre here!”

“Clearly he’s heard the news,” Enjolras muttered as he went to let in this newcomer. “We were just about to call on you, Citizen Lamarre,” he greeted.

“Then my arrival is timely,” Lamarre said. The normally unflappable man was red in the face even as he doffed his hat and his coat. “I heard that Detective Thenardier was able to bring back your son as well as _Se_ _ñ_ _orita_ Villanueva safely.”

“That is true,” Enjolras said. “There is another concern; one of the girl’s relatives insists that they marry, or at least enter into a long engagement.”

Lamarre’s face darkened at this information. “I feared this would happen. You know that the Spanish way of doing things is rather strict to the point of being prudish, and the merest _suggestion_ of impropriety is not tolerated. I understand that this is a serious issue for her family, but apart from age, there is another reason that this match cannot be tolerated.”

“A precedent, as Feuilly has said?” Enjolras asked.

“Well you of all people know the rights given to French citizens, as well as their spouses and children. A foreigner marrying a citizen of this Republic would not straightaway receive the full benefit of citizenship but would have stronger footing should he or she wish to attain permanent residency or to change citizenship. Furthermore, any children born from such a match would be considered as French citizens, especially if they are born in France,” Lamarre began, now pacing the floor. “Allowing this match, or a similar one, would open the door for refugees to come into France for the _purpose_ of marrying, and then attaining residency in this manner.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth. “While there have _already_ been similar cases such as that of say, Germaine de Stael and her husband prior to the revolution of 1789, public opinion was not always kind. For one thing the de Staels were wealthy and well-connected enough to excuse anything no matter how audacious.”

“Anything except crossing Napoleon Bonaparte,” Feuilly reminded him. “While I do not think the French government should impinge on the right of anyone to legally marry provided they are of proper age, sound mind and with good intent, there must be some safeguards against those who would abuse this system.”

‘ _Conscience not being enough,’_ Enjolras decided silently. “Intent is the most difficult to prove. How would you propose then to discourage this sort of illicit practice?”

“I will have to give it some thought, perhaps delegate this as an addendum to the primer,” Lamarre said, shaking his head. “Your friend Courfeyrac has specialized in family law, hasn’t he?”

“Yes. Will you be requiring his services?” Enjolras asked, smirking knowingly.

“Soon. I will write to him tomorrow,” Lamarre said. He shook his head once again. “This primer gets bigger and bigger.”

“That it does, but what do we do about the Spanish?” Feuilly asked. “There is some ill feeling that needs to be smoothed over.”

Lamarre was quiet for a moment as he counted out on his fingers. “In two days, I will return the favors of everyone’s hospitality and invite some parties over to my home. You of course Feuilly, and Enjolras. Eponine should come along too.”

Enjolras shook his head. “Unfortunately, she is indisposed, and will have to rest until the doctors say it is safe for her to be up and about.’

“A pity. Citizenness Combeferre or someone else should come along then, to round this out,” Lamarre said. “You need not worry this time about getting someone ill on fine Burgundy. I’ve managed to source some good Champagnes that will serve us better.”


	77. The Game Revisited

Inasmuch as Eponine wished for Enjolras to stay at the Rue Guisarde with her the following Monday, there was no arguing with the fact that her husband had some hearings that he could not miss on that specific day. ‘ _Then again you always knew what you were getting into,’_ she told herself as she sat up on their living room sofa while watching him getting ready to head to the Palais de Justice. “It’s just for a few hours. I’ll be fine here,” she reassured him, seeing the worried look on his face. “I won’t be exactly alone, since Mrs. Calamy is coming to call this morning.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this. “What does she want this time?”

“Some news she has to tell me,” Eponine said lightly. She frowned on seeing her husband’s quizzical look turn skeptical. “After all the help she gave us in Italy, you still don’t like her much.”

“I appreciate her assistance, even as there was an ulterior motive,” he pointed out. “At that time, she was still very much an agent of her Queen and country.”

“It’s more of because she’s English, or rather, she isn’t French.”

“What gives you that impression?”

“I know you, Antoine. You don’t take that easily to strangers,” Eponine said, resting her elbows on her knees. “I s’pose I can understand why you would not trust Victoria all that much even if that trouble was so long ago, and why you might find Clarita difficult to deal with. I know you don’t like Imelda at all for a good reason, but that doesn’t mean you should be so distant with Ariadne.”

“What does she have to do with it?” Enjolras asked, his brow furrowing.

Eponine sighed and bit her lip, wondering how to phrase her next words. “You’re still so formal with her, like she’s a stranger. I can guess it’s one or several of these things: she’s English, you worry she might take after her mother, or you just don’t think she ought to be with Neville just yet.”

“I would not consider the span of a few months to be enough to adequately gauge her strength of character.”

“You’ve trusted people for much less. Why should Ariadne be any different?”

Enjolras was silent for a moment, his eyes dark as if he was deep in thought, before he looked at his wife once again. “If that is so, then I shall have to make some form of reparation,” he said slowly, as if considering every word.

“Well not so formally; maybe not always questioning her would be a good start,” Eponine suggested. “I know you can do it.”

“Rather, I should.” Enjolras kissed her quickly and pulled a stray strand of hair out of her face. “I shall try to be back by early afternoon. I’ll see you later, Eponine.”

“You too, Antoine,” she said as she smoothed out his cuffs. ‘ _It’s not going to be easy for him, but he will do his best,’_ she told herself as she lay back down on the couch. She cast a glance towards where little Etienne was scribbling in a corner before she reached for a translation that she’d done some work on since Saturday. Just as she was in the middle of reviewing a tricky passage, she heard a knock on the front door. “It’s unlocked!” she called.

“Should you really be doing that?” Victoria asked as she entered the house, carrying a basket of food. She paused as she stepped into the living room and got a good look at Eponine. “Doctor’s orders to stay abed?”

“In a conspiracy with my husband is more like it,” Eponine replied, placing a hand near her navel when she felt a strong kick there. “Where is Ariadne?”

“Wouldn’t you believe it, she’s giving drawing lessons to your friend Feuilly’s little girl,” Victoria said approvingly as she took a seat. “They must have made quite the impression on each other yesterday.”

“Sophie has always been a wonderful child, and I s’pose she reminds Ariadne of herself at that age too,” Eponine observed. “What have you got there in that basket?”

“Some jellies and a little beef broth,” Victoria said as she brought out some covered jars and set them near the couch. “That’s what we used to get even the sickest of our sailors back on their feet. The broth I mean, not the jelly.”

‘ _Who’d think of taking such a thing to sea anyway?’_ Eponine wondered, already trying to imagine the various culinary privations one would have to face on a voyage. “You said you wanted to see me, about what the diplomats were talking about.”

The older woman nodded, her expression suddenly turning serious. “I said I’d put an end to my spy work, but it seems as if _your_ government needs my services.”

“Whatever for?”

“Haven’t you noticed all these Prussians and Austrians here in Paris lately?”

Eponine bit her lip, recalling what Enjolras had noticed in Saint-Sulpice months ago, as well as the assault on LeClerc. “I s’pose they must be up to something then.”

“That is what I am supposed to find out.”

“You could find some help; Antoine is friends with the new ambassador to Prussia, Citizen Luc Belmont.”

Victoria’s brow furrowed at the mention of the envoy’s name. “I was asked to help out _because_ of Citizen Belmont. I have heard that he is a congenial man, good for making alliances but not quite as astute with the watchful aspect of being an ambassador.”

‘ _She clearly does not think much of him,’_ Eponine realized as she sat up straighter. “I s’pose then that he is in some danger.”

“He might be, but what is worse is that we all might be, depending which way the Prussians go,” Victoria muttered. In the morning light she suddenly seemed tired and drawn even as she put her hands in her lap. “I cannot do this alone. Could you help me, at least as best as you can?”

“I could, if I knew German,” Eponine said. “But I know someone who does.”

“Yes, the husband of your best friend Cosette Pontmercy.” Victoria laced her fingers together as she regarded Eponine. “Which is why you should have no trouble prevailing upon the Baron to share some of his expertise.”

‘ _Cosette is more of a sister to me, really,’_ Eponine thought even as she shook her head. “That would not be a good idea.”

“In fact, or only because you think so?” Victoria asked testily.

“Both. Cosette is like me; she’s got four children to protect too,” Eponine said. “LeClerc got stabbed near here because of this. I don’t even know _who_ put that bomb outside the Palais de Justice that almost killed Antoine. I can’t let that happen to Cosette.”

Victoria gritted her teeth. “She need not be involved in it, it’s her husband we need.”

“Not him. Whatever happens to him affects her too, and their children,” Eponine said flatly. “If you really must, you’d have to do it yourself by talking to Marius himself at his office.”

“In short, you will have no part in this,” Victoria retorted curtly. “What if I told you that it also concerns the Italian _Risorgimento_?”

“Talk to Citizen Riva. He is in Paris right now.”

“I’ve been trying to get a hold of him for a few days, and his hotel concierge says that he’s been travelling around.”

‘ _To where though?’_ Eponine wondered, biting her lip to keep from voicing this query out aloud. “I wish I could help, but I cannot get off this couch for a while. I’m so sorry.”

Victoria sighed deeply. “Maybe I have to find someone with nothing to lose.”

“And who can play this whole game of spies as well as you can,” Eponine pointed out. “But is it true what they say about the Prussian court, that it is _the_ most treacherous court in Europe?”

“Worse than England and Spain, but you’d have to tussle with the Russians to settle that, at least in my opinion,” Victoria said more grimly. “If you ask me, Citizen Sardou made a very big mistake sending his ambassador to Prussia, and I hope that Citizen Lamarre can repair that.”


	78. An Ominous Way To Make One's Presence Known

The afternoon of the following day, a Tuesday, found Enjolras in the odd position of having finished up much of his paperwork on his desk at the Palais de Justice. ‘ _A respite for now, since the rest of the week will bring new things,’_ he told himself as he glanced at his watch, which showed the time to be just approaching four in the afternoon. As he began to clean out his inkwell, he heard a hurried knock on the door. “Come in, Courfeyrac,” he called, looking up from wiping a spot of ink off the woodwork.

“I was worried you’d left already,” Courfeyrac said by way of greeting as he entered the office. “I am all for going to the Rue de Buffon to meet with Lamarre , but isn’t five-thirty in the afternoon too early for a dinner?”

“He is hosting a gathering Spanish-style, another _merienda cena_ such as the one that Sardou failed to show up to when we hosted it,” Enjolras explained.

Courfeyrac nodded understandingly. “Who else did he invite aside from us as well as Feuilly and de Polignac?”

“The rest of the team writing the primer, and some of de Polignac’s Spanish companions,” Enjolras said. “This question of marriages from Spanish refugees is something that has to be settled.”

“Not just the Spanish,” Courfeyrac corrected. “How many of our own countrymen have also been in de Polignac’s position and have found surety in foreign climes through the matrimonial tie?”

“A poor use of an institution that many people still esteem.”

“To some people that would be the most practical one.”

“For better and for worse,” Enjolras concurred grimly. “While we are on that topic, how are your own preparations going?”

“The matrimonial feast has been planned, now our problem is to make sure we do not gorge to the point of being unable to eat it, or fit in our attire,” Courfeyrac quipped. “Our concerns are more with setting up house, that is to fit the effects and affairs of three persons in a single apartment. That is one thing we are considering expanding.”

‘ _A house would suit them better especially if he and Charlesette intend to have more children someday,’_ Enjolras thought as he finished cleaning his inkwell. “If you need any assistance, you only have to ask,” he said, clasping his friend’s arm.

“The choosing is more difficult than the moving,” Courfeyrac laughed. “Speaking of wives, I heard that Eponine will not be joining us today at the meeting?”

“Combeferre came by this morning and he advised that she remain resting at home till the end of the week,” Enjolras explained. “Musichetta is with her now.”

“Perhaps I should ask her and Joly how they were able to fit themselves _and_ their three children in that snug nest of the Rue Ferou,” Courfeyrac noted even as another knock sounded on the door. “This isn’t an office, this is a drawing room for the public!” he laughed.

“It’s only Citizen Riva,” Enjolras deadpanned. “It’s unlocked,” he called in Italian.

Riva opened the door cautiously and peered in. “I understand that you meant that the door was open?” he asked. “I mean, that’s how it sounded to me.”

‘ _Once again the Italian language is elusive,’_ Enjolras thought, gritting his teeth when he saw Courfeyrac trying to hold in a burst of laughter. “Something to that effect. I heard that you have been travelling?”

“Outside of Paris, and no I have not found Garibaldi,” Riva replied, doffing his large, floppy traveling hat. “I may have to take you up on your offer to meet _Signora_ Pontmercy.”

“What new chivalrous errand is this?” Courfeyrac quipped.

“More about gallantry gone wrong in the days gone by,” Enjolras explained. “Citizen Riva is inquiring about the remnants of convents and religious orders, some of which may still linger at the Little Convent at Petit-Picpus.”

Courfeyrac gaped at Riva for a moment before chuckling. “There is one problem with that inquiry, my friend. No man has been admitted beyond the main church of Petit-Picpus, unless one is a Bishop!”

“That’s why I need the help of a lady,” Riva reasoned. “Former students are allowed admission into the convent premises?”

“That would have to be ascertained,” Enjolras replied. “When do you wish for me to introduce you to her?”

“Some time within this week; I will not impose myself on her,” Riva said a little abashedly. “I also received an invite from _Signor_ Lamarre to dine with him this evening.”

“As did we; there is much we have to speak about,” Enjolras said. Even as he spoke, he saw a sheet of paper suddenly slide under his office door. Wordlessly, he went over to pick this up and unfolded it to find these words printed in solid black letter: ‘ _Publish and perish’._ He quickly threw the office door open, only to find no one in the hallway outside.

Courfeyrac whistled at this sight. “An anonymous tip?”

Enjolras shook his head as he pocketed the slip of paper. “A threat, which will have to be discussed later.” He began gathering up his belongings, all the while keenly aware of Riva watching him and Courfeyrac anxiously. “An investigation will be required. Shall we now, gentlemen?” he asked, going to the door.


	79. Wifely Influence

It was just as well for Eponine that it was not only Musichetta who had decided to spend the day at the Rue Guisarde. “You’d do, and have done, the same thing for us if the situation was reversed,” Cosette said gently as she, Eponine, Musichetta, and Claudine were seated around a table set with cups of coffee and tea, as well as small plates of macarons, tiny almond cakes and other pastries. “I remember you spent some days staying with me before Lucille was born.”

Eponine sighed at this memory of several years ago. “I think it was because your husband was out of Paris that week, and Combeferre had just recommended that you stay in bed since you were feeling unusually ill.”

Claudine frowned. “What was he even doing out of town in the first place?”

“Lawyers,” Eponine and Cosette said in unison.

Musichetta whistled as she picked up her cup of coffee. “Makes me glad that I married a doctor. Wouldn’t you say so, Claudine?”

“Well it is the academic, and not the medical side of things that brings Francois out of town every now and then,” Claudine replied, sitting back in her chair. “When Remy and Yvette are old enough, I want them to accompany him sometimes.”

“ _Both_ of them? Is that wise?’ Cosette asked.

“It’s an education in itself. I learned a lot about other towns and places when I would accompany my father on his trips for our textile business,” Claudine explained. “It’s not something one can get being shut up in a school or with tutors at home, no matter how fine or qualified.”

‘ _Which probably explains why Victoria brings Ariadne everywhere too, or lets her go places,’_ Eponine reflected silently as she picked up a slice of cake. “I’d take any of those over not having been educated much at all,” she said.

“You have an education, you just gave it to yourself with all your reading. That’s very remarkable,” Cosette said amiably. “Speaking of schools, I’ve heard that the Bernardines convent is further reducing their Little Convent.”

“You mean their house for nuns whose cloisters have broken up?” Musichetta asked.

Cosette nodded. “I heard from a schoolfriend who made a donation recently to the girls’ school that there are not even ten nuns left in the Little Convent; most of the cells are empty now and the nuns there may as well find rooms in the building of the Great Convent. It might be better for them since it is warmer there and they are so old.”

“They must be past seventy or so if they were part of orders broken up during the 1789 revolution!” Eponine exclaimed.

“Maybe even approaching a hundred. I know everyone gets old, but what’s sad is that there will come a time when no one will know of the nuns and who they were. I’ve thought of writing some of it down,” Cosette said. “You think anyone would be interested in reading it these days?”

“Even if no one reads it now, it’s good to write something just so people know they even _existed,”_ Eponine said. She shifted in her seat to let little Etienne climb up next to her to place a pudgy hand on the swell of her stomach. “Looking for your little sister there already?” she asked.

Etienne grinned, clearly feeling the baby kick under his hand. “Want brother!”

“You already have three older brothers.”

“More brothers!”

Cosette, Musichetta, and Claudine burst out laughing. “But if it is a girl, what are you going to name her?” Claudine asked.

“Antoine and I haven’t quite decided on it yet, but he’s been thinking of the name Sabine,” Eponine said. “That does not mean that we would give the name Sabinus to a boy though.”

“But are there any names you prefer?” Musichetta asked.

“Yes, but since I got to name our boys, he gets to name the girls,” Eponine explained, looking up just in time to see a man suddenly walk up to the front gate to leave a note between the bars. ‘ _Someone who does not want to be seen,’_ she realized, moving to get up.

Claudine glanced at Eponine and shook her head. “I’ll get it. You sit still and rest,” she said sternly as she set aside her drink before standing up and heading outside. In a few moments she returned with the paper in hand. “It isn’t surprising anymore that this does not have a sender or a return address.”

“Maybe it will help explain a thing or two,” Eponine said as she held out her hand for this missive, which was sealed with only a blob of wax without any device or mark to it. Upon breaking the seal, she was greeted by these words penned by a smooth hand in a greenish-black ink:

_November 15, 1842_

_Dear Citizenness Enjolras,_

_My warmest greetings to you and your family. Although we are not personally acquainted, your writings and works have definitely not escaped my notice. You are after all among the most influential women in Paris._

_This is why I am writing to you, to hear out this matter of concern to us educated Frenchwomen. The proposed primer being drawn up by our Home Office of the diplomatic corps has been a topic of much discussion. My friends and I strongly feel that this project, as ambitious as it is, would pose more evil than good. It would cause unnecessary discord with our neighbors on all sides. Therefore, I implore you to please use your wifely influence to dissuade Citizen Enjolras from publishing this work. There are more necessary causes where he is needed. It may seem presumptuous to you that I should ask this favor, but I think you would be able to comprehend the necessity of this._

_In the name of liberty and all we hold dear_

_Citizenness Marianne Gaspard_

Eponine took a moment to read and reread this missive before shaking her head and laughing out loud. “I’m sure that this letter was not penned by a Frenchwoman!” she said, showing the note to her friends. “You can see clearly the things that no French citizen would do.”

Cosette pursed her lips disapprovingly. “The grammar is all wrong. She, or whoever wrote it, used both ‘vous’ and ‘tu’ in the same sentence.”

“I do wonder what ‘educated women’ this writer is referring to, since most if not all of the salons in Paris do not usually discuss international affairs,” Claudine added. “Also, wasn’t this primer supposed to be rather discreet or confidential?”

“Not all of our diplomats are good at keeping secrets,” Eponine pointed out. “And I’m sure that the name ‘Marianne Gaspard’ is a ploy or some sort of pen name.”

“To evoke the radical sympathy,” Musichetta muttered. “Do you have any idea as to who might have sent this?”

“Not really. I’ve never seen this sort of ink here in Paris at least,” Eponine said. “Almost all the ink shops here have their ink stark black, which fades out to a brown. This one is dark green to begin with and may dry to a lighter shade of green.”

“Are you saying someone is using ink from outside of France?” Cosette asked.

“I s’pose it is more likely that he or she _is_ not from France,” Eponine clarified. She bit her lip as her latest conversation with Victoria came to mind, particularly the Englishwoman’s apprehensions about Belmont’s assignment to Prussia. ‘ _The mistakes are a sort that an English writer would make, but what about a Prussian?’_ she wondered quietly.

In the meantime Claudine had begun to wring her hands, clearly deep in thought. “I know I’m not supposed to know this, but word gets around by way of Maurice Courfeyrac. There is a meeting with Citizen Lamarre at the Rue de Buffon, tonight?”

Eponine nodded. “Antoine will be there, so will Feuilly and I s’pose now Courfeyrac and other friends too, Citizen de Polignac is also invited, to help settle the problem with the Spanish. What about it?”

“I think we need to find a way to send word, or go there ourselves. They have to know.”


	80. What to Make of a Threat

Unlike many apartments situated on the Rue de Buffon, which was a neighborhood of old residences, Lamarre’s own home was in a newly erected house that was designed in a clear imitation of a Roman villa. “Admittedly more elegant than what I expected from him, and far better than what we had for ourselves years ago,” Courfeyrac quipped as he, Enjolras and Riva walked up to their colleague’s second floor apartment.

“Probably because gunpowder and armaments are not part of his regular expenditures,” Enjolras deadpanned. ‘ _The very fact he is able to entertain already speaks much of the matter,’_ he noted silently as they gained admittance to a large room already filled with diplomats and some other personages mingling while partaking of wine paired with small wedges of cheese and various canapes. Almost immediately he caught sight of Lamarre caught up in what appeared to be a heated debate with none other than Claudine. “Something afoot?” he asked them by way of greeting.

Lamarre turned to him with a barely masked expression of irritation. “Citizenness Combeferre is telling me about a ludicrous prank she received----”

“That your wife received,” Claudine cut in, reaching into her pocket for a note, which she then handed to Enjolras. “This arrived at the Rue Guisarde today, while Musichetta, Cosette and I were visiting.”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed as he read through the note, more so when he reached the signature at its end. “The choice of the name Marianne as an alias is no accident,” he pronounced. “Did anyone see the sender?”

“Only that it was a man, but he disappeared before we could identify him,” Claudine said. “He arrived on foot, and there did not seem to be a carriage waiting nearby.”

“If it was an actual dispatch and not a practical joke, there would have been something more official,” Lamarre argued.

“If it was an actual dispatch, it would have been properly signed and addressed,” Enjolras said. He brought out of his waistcoat pocket the missive he had received earlier that day. “This was surreptitiously slipped under the door of my office just before we left for here.”

The diplomat’s jaw dropped as he read, then reread the single line. “This is an actual threat. But from who?”

“If we knew, we’d be reporting this matter to the Prefecture and making ourselves a little tardy for supper,” Courfeyrac drawled. He clapped Riva on his shoulder. “Before we forget, my friend, have I introduced you yet to the brilliant Citizenness Combeferre?”

“Only in stories,” Riva said before gallantly kissing Claudine’s hand. “I had the pleasure of traveling with your husband throughout Italy a few months ago. _Signor_ Giovanni Riva at your service, Citizenness,” he said to her with a smile.

“Ah yes. Francois was impressed with your being both guide and diplomat during his time there. You have my thanks for saving him as well as our friends,” Claudine said. “What brings you to France at this time of the year?”

“An errand of discretion,” Lamarre cut in. He motioned to his watch and shook his head. “Unless Madrid time is tardy time, it is not like de Polignac to be even a little tardy.”

“Perhaps something has kept him, but he should be here in a while,” Courfeyrac said candidly. “Shall we get some refreshment first?”

“In a few moments,” Enjolras said, nodding first to his friends and then to Lamarre. As soon as Courfeyrac had brought Claudine and Riva out of earshot, he looked seriously to the diplomat. “What Citizenness Combeferre presented is not to be taken lightly,” he added in an undertone.

“It looks like a piece of tomfoolery, like the sort of letter one writes as a prank,” Lamarre pointed out.

“Perhaps, but the stiltedness of it also suggests someone who is not familiar with some of our language conventions,” Enjolras said dryly.

“Then what do you make of the note you have in hand?”

“A threat, likely from a different sender.”

Lamarre frowned and put his hands in his pockets. “These both concern the primer. It is supposed to be a confidential or at least a discreet project. Whoever is sending these threats is among those working on this document or is closely related to someone who is.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “That is counterintuitive.”

“It is the only explanation that makes sense to me,” Lamarre said. “Unless you are suggesting that some other party has infiltrated the team or has a vested interest in stopping this primer’s publication?”

Before Enjolras could answer this, he caught sight of de Polignac now entering the apartment, in the company of some other familiar faces from the Spanish contingent. “Are they all invited?” he asked Lamarre.

The diplomat shook his head almost imperceptibly before going forward to greet these newcomers. In the meantime, Enjolras took the opportunity to locate Feuilly, who had just finished up a discussion with some other attaches elsewhere in the room. “Some debacle?” he asked, seeing his friend’s furrowed brow.

Feuilly shook his head. “Even in this day and age, there are people who defend or at least turn a blind eye to Russia’s slow strangulation of Poland. I understand that non-interference has always been our safest foreign policy, but there is a difference between that and complicity in the suppression of Polish dissent and self-determination.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras said with a nod. “What then has precipitated this line of thought?”

Feuilly looked around cautiously before speaking again. “It might happen that we will have to open the process of asylum to some Polish nationalists before the year is out.”

“On what basis?”

“There is talk of crackdowns and arrests going on in Krakow, not just of Polish citizens but also of foreign nationals who sympathize with the movement for Polish self-governance. If it were not for the pressing business we have here, I would be on the team to investigate this and what it means for our foreign policy.”

“Which foreign nationals----” Enjolras began, only to have his next words drowned out by the crash of broken glass, followed by a scream.


	81. Taking the Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw for mentions of blood and violence

One thing that Eponine had come to count on in recent years was the fact that Enjolras almost always made an effort to be home in time for dinner. ‘ _On days when he doesn’t send word, that means something awful has happened,’_ she could not help thinking as she looked out over the gathering evening dark just outside the living room window, long after Claudine took her leave followed by Musichetta some hours later.

In her reverie she almost did not hear Cosette clucking her tongue as she entered the living room. “It’s a gathering of diplomats, with the Spanish involved. Maybe it extended to dinner,” she noted as she set a hot bowl of stew beside her friend.

Eponine shook her head. “It wouldn’t usually be so. When we had that sort of thing here, we didn’t go past seven in the evening, if you remember.”

“I thought it was because Citizen Sardou didn’t show up since he was taken ill,” Cosette said as she took a seat. “I am sure that Enjolras has a good reason for being a little late. In the meantime, you can trust that Neville and I have things handled here, and even Laure with minding her younger brothers,” she added more reassuringly.

Eponine managed a smile as she picked up the food, more so when she heard a peal of laughter from where the children were playing upstairs. “And what about Jacques?”

Cosette shrugged. “He’s fine but it _will_ take him a while to be back to his congenial self.”

‘ _Sometimes I’m afraid he won’t be,’_ Eponine thought, biting her lip before taking a few mouthfuls of stew. The rich taste of tomatoes mingled with cream and herbs was very easy on the tongue, allowing her to relax for a while up until she heard a knock on the front door.

“I’ll get it,” Cosette said, motioning for Eponine to sit still. She returned a moment later, looking very pale with Feuilly in tow. “Ponine---” she began.

“What’s happened?” Eponine asked. She glanced down quickly, now finding herself on her feet, before taking in the sight of their friend whose shirt was spattered with blood. She grabbed the side of her seat to keep herself steady. “Where’s Antoine?”

Feuilly took a deep breath in a clear attempt to compose himself. “Eponine you need to sit down, please, before I explain.”

“I’m doing just fine, Feuilly. Where is my husband?” Eponine insisted.

“He’s fetching Armand,” Feuilly managed to say, now finding a seat. He covered his face with his hands before speaking again. “The gathering was going well, until someone brought out a knife meant for Lamarre. Courfeyrac fended it off but got it in the side instead.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “Then what happened?”

“He was taken to Val-de-Grace; Claudine went to get Combeferre to meet them there,” Feuilly replied more steadily. He shuddered visibly and took another deep breath. “There was so much blood.”

“Who did it?” Eponine asked.

“A stranger; the police were called, and someone is getting the whole story right now,” Feuilly replied. “To put it plainly, it was an attempt at an assassination.”

“That’s clear, but has anyone gone to tell Charlesette?” Cosette chimed in.

Feuilly gaped at her. “I am not sure. She isn’t listed as Courfeyrac’s next of kin.”

“But she’s the one who can best take care of him, and even Armand,” Eponine said. “I s’pose that Courfeyrac would want her to know too.”

Feuilly paled further as he hung his head. “Then I should go to meet her straight away. Would she be at home?”

“Perhaps by now yes. I know she went out to make some preparations for the wedding,” Cosette said even over the sound of the front door opening. “They’re finally here,” she said, now getting to her feet once more.

Eponine turned to now see Enjolras in the door of the living room, half-carrying a trembling and sobbing Armand. She bit her lip on seeing that her husband’s clothes and even his hair were also stained with blood. “I’ll take him for now, Antoine. You have to get cleaned up,” she managed to say, holding out her arms for the child.

“That would be wise,” Enjolras said, his usually even tone tinged with weariness mingled with relief. He bent to briefly kiss Eponine’s forehead before setting Armand down next to her feet. “How are the children?”

“Playing upstairs,” Eponine said, even as she now saw Neville and Jacques in the living room doorway. “Please fetch some clean clothes for your father; he has to wash and change downstairs.”

Neville paled slightly but stood tall. “What happened?”

“I’ll explain later,” Enjolras said. He cleared his throat when he saw Jacques turn on his heel. “Jacques, we also need you here.”

Jacques gave Enjolras a surly look. “What for?”

“Neville will get my things, but I need you to help prepare a bed for Armand, with the younger boys,” Enjolras said. “He’d be more comfortable there.”

Jacques snorted. “From being your son, I am now a chambermaid?”

“Jacques!” Eponine snapped indignantly, even as the boy now left the room. She looked away from Enjolras, who was red with unspoken fury, down to where Armand was now clinging to her, trying to still his own sobs. “Your Uncle Combeferre will make sure that your father will be well,” she reassured the child.

Feuilly cleared his throat. “I should go and notify Charlesette about what has happened.”

“There is no need to; she was at the apartment when I came to collect Armand, and she went straight to care for Courfeyrac after,” Enjolras said. “She’ll stay with him tonight and send word as soon as she can.”

The mention of Charlesette somehow had Armand stilling his sobs and wiping his face. “I know she’ll take care of Papa. But what if it’s not enough?”

“What do you mean?” Cosette asked.

Armand swallowed hard. “She and Papa aren’t married yet, so what’s going to happen to me if…” he trailed off before sniffling again.

“Now no such thing is going to happen since your father is in good hands. He’ll be right as rain before we all know it,” Eponine said as calmly as she could manage, even as she saw Enjolras trying to keep a straight face. ‘ _It’s worse than anyone is letting on,’_ she realized even as Cosette quickly took charge of bringing Armand upstairs to the other children, while Feuilly exchanged a few words with Enjolras before taking his leave.

Once they were alone, Enjolras sat down heavily next to Eponine on the couch. The sight of him so silent had Eponine reaching for his hand, which he held tightly. “If Claudine hadn’t been there, Courfeyrac would have bled out before help arrived,” he finally said. “She was the only one who knew what to do.”

Eponine shut her eyes momentarily at the mental image of Claudine trying to stem a torrent of blood from Courfeyrac’s midsection. “Was that all that happened?”

“The only other thing to add is that the assailant was dragged off, kicking and screaming,” Enjolras replied. “It would appear that he was an interloper who took advantage of the coming and going of personages to make his way in.”

“But who would do such a thing?” Eponine asked. “I know that Lamarre took on a dangerous post by filling in for Citizen Sardou, but does a man like him really have personal enemies?”

“I am more inclined to believe that he has inherited some of Sardou’s enemies as well as some of his own,” Enjolras said. “Claudine was there to warn us of a note that you received. I also received a missive too.”

Eponine shuddered, already divining what its contents might have been. “Then, was it really Lamarre who was the target of it all?”

“So it would seem. The assailant went for him, but Courfeyrac fought him off,” Enjolras replied. “That was across the room from where Feuilly and I were standing, and far off from where Riva was too.”

“I s’pose that is how it works, but why did _we_ get the notes?”

“Perhaps their sender believes we can sway Lamarre’s decision to proceed with publishing that primer.”

“I think it’s more than that,” Eponine said, shaking her head. “You said Riva was there?”

“Yes.” Enjolras was silent for a moment, as if recalling something. “Feuilly and I were talking of other diplomatic developments with Russia and Poland when it all happened. That is another storm going on that we must not ignore when handling future developments. However, there is one thing that binds some of us in that room together.”

“Italy?”

“Yes. It looks like we may have to ask Riva if somehow, anyone _else_ knows he is in Paris.”


	82. For Better and For Worse

Even if Enjolras managed to get his household and their unexpected guest all settled and in bed at a reasonable hour, he found that sleep eluded him well into the night, and when it did it only arrived fitfully. ‘ _There will be a time for more of that,’_ he told himself silently the next day over breakfast with Eponine, Neville, Jacques, Laure, Julien, Etienne, and Armand. As he took a sip from his cup of coffee, he caught sight of Armand yawning and nearly falling over onto his plate of brioche. “It is not necessary for Armand to be at school today,” he said to Eponine. “Till his father or Charlesette sends for him, he should remain here at the Rue Guisarde.”

Eponine nodded before shaking Armand’s shoulder gently. “Come on, you can sleep in the living room. Etienne and I will be there soon,” she said soothingly to the boy.

“But what about breakfast?” Armand asked, rubbing his eyes.

“You’re too sleepy to eat it anyway, but we can save you some,” Julien offered. “You can eat it before going to school—”

“Didn’t you hear what Father said? Armand doesn’t have to be in school today,” Jacques said in a mocking sing-song tone.

“Papa, that’s not fair! Why does _he_ get to stay away from school?” Laure whined.

“Because your Uncle Courfeyrac may need him at any moment,” Enjolras replied firmly. “Also, as you can see, he needs rest.”

“I’m fine, Uncle. I can go to school,” Armand insisted, trying to blink his eyes open.

“Not in that shape,” Neville chimed in. “You’ll get ink all over your noggin at that rate.”

Laure frowned at Neville. “What’s a noggin?”

“That’s another word for this,” Neville said, rapping the side of his head with his knuckles. “Well, it’s something the English say in their own argot,” he explained to Enjolras and Eponine.

“I understand perfectly what that means, but we do not speak any form of argot in this house,” Eponine reminded him.

Jacques snorted even as Neville turned red. “Now who’s a proper gentleman now?” the younger boy muttered under his breath.

Enjolras set down his cup of coffee sharply. “Jacques, a word with you in the study. Now.”

Jacques merely gave Enjolras a surly look as he set down his food and got to his feet before stalking out of the room, even as the other children exchanged wary looks while Eponine sighed deeply. Enjolras took another sip of coffee and then went to where Jacques now waited in the study. For a long moment he glared at the boy, who merely sat on a chair while keeping his eyes averted. “You are free to air your grievances and ill feelings regarding recent events; I do not expect you to be happy about them. What I will not permit is utter disrespect towards the rest of our family,” he said sternly. “To put it more plainly, your behavior this day and the day before is unacceptable.”

Jacques crossed his arms. “You’re not even my father.”

“Yet under the law, you are my son,” Enjolras reminded him.

“Only on paper.”

“This does not change the actuality that you have a brother, a sister, two nephews, and a niece under this roof.”

“What is it to you? Family is supposed to make each other happy, and _none of you_ ever want me to be happy!” Jacques shot back.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “What gave you that impression?”

“None of you welcomed Imelda the same way that you all welcomed Ariadne,” Jacques answered bitterly. “You didn’t even give her a chance.”

“Had you conducted yourself decorously, without these shenanigans of running off, then that chance would have come to fruition,” Enjolras said, fixing the boy with a steely look. “You are making a poor case for yourselves.”

Jacques sighed despairingly. “Why are you all acting like it is the end of the world? Nothing bad happened, Gavroche got us home safe and sound, but you’ve been talking like this was going to cause some international trouble.”

“It very well almost did,” Enjolras pointed out. “Had it not been for the careful handling of some of our friends, your actions would have jeopardized the whole effort to grant others asylum when fleeing the situation in Spain.”

“It was just one time!”

“One time too many, as far as diplomacy is concerned.”

Jacques’ jaw dropped for a moment before he hung his head. “I did not mean for anything like this to happen!” he muttered before quickly fleeing the room.

Enjolras shook his head at this, more so when he heard a door slam amid Neville’s protests. “Perhaps I should ask for Prouvaire’s assistance with this,” he muttered thoughtfully as he went to his desk. After penning a quick note to send to Riva’s lodgings, he went upstairs to finish readying for the day, and then headed to the Val-du-Grace.

When he arrived at the hospital, he was quickly directed to a small room on the second floor. Here he found Courfeyrac lying in bed, awake but rather drowsy. He was clad in nothing but a long shirt that was partially unbuttoned for easy access to the bandages on his side. At his side was Charlesette, who was pale from lack of sleep and still wearing her pink dress from the day before. “I take that it was not an easy night?” he asked concernedly by way of greeting as he entered.

Courfeyrac attempted to salute but only winced. “You just missed Combeferre telling me about the ills I already know of,” he said in a cracked voice.

“What did he have to say?”

“It will be a slow recovery, but it could also go…” Charlesette trailed off before shaking her head. “We were talking about it, and we decided we cannot afford to wait another day.”

“Another day for?”

Courfeyrac held up his left hand and mimed slipping a ring onto it. “The papers are all in my apartment, all is needed is to find a priest and a notary. The circumstances do allow for it?”

“It isn’t exactly _articulo mortis_ but I see what you mean,” Enjolras said. ‘ _As irregular as it is, it will be the best surety he can get for Charlesette as well as Armand,’_ he decided as he took a seat. He waited for Courfeyrac to stop wincing and begin to breathe more easily before speaking again. “Apart from that, is there anything else you need?”

“Well to send for Armand, and maybe for Eponine if she can manage it? She was supposed to be my witness for the big day,” Charlesette said, blushing slightly. She fished for a set of keys on Courfeyrac’s bedside and then handed them over to Enjolras. “These are for Maurice’s things and Armand’s nice suit. I won’t need anything for myself; I don’t mind getting married in this dress or without any flowers.”

“Very well then,” Enjolras said, now getting to his feet. “Name the hour, and we shall make sure it is done.”

Courfeyrac nodded before shutting his eyes. “Thank you, Enjolras.”

Enjolras nodded before quitting the room to pen several notes: one to send to Eponine at the Rue Guisarde, and another to send to Combeferre and Claudine. Following this he went first to the Hotel de Ville, then to the church of Saint-Eustache. After a quick trip to Courfeyrac’s rooms to fetch some documents as well as Armand’s best suit, he headed back to the Val-du-Grace. By the time he did so, it was almost noon.

When he arrived back at Courfeyrac’s room, Combeferre was already back and chatting up Armand, while the notary and a priest conferred in one corner of the room. Courfeyrac was dozing lightly, but his hair was already combed and his face washed for the occasion. “I take that the ladies are preparing elsewhere?” Enjolras asked, setting down the documents before handing over the clothes to Armand.

Combeferre nodded. “They will be a while yet,” he said, clasping Enjolras’ shoulder. “It’s good of you to arrange this quickly, and on short notice.”

“Pragmatically speaking a wedding could take place any day once the official requirements have been fulfilled,” Enjolras deadpanned. “The only matter is the guest list.”

Armand grinned up cheekily from where had managed to wriggle his way into his suit and was now buttoning it up. “That makes us very special guests then.”

“You’re more than a special guest; you are your father’s best man,” Enjolras said as he helped his godson tie his cravat. He looked up just as Eponine and Claudine entered the room. Both women had on their good dresses, with hastily made wreaths of herbs in their tresses. “Is everything ready?” he asked by way of greeting.

Claudine nodded. “Charlesette of course will make a grand entrance.”

Eponine laughed for a moment, and had a secretive smile on her face as she grabbed Enjolras’ arm to pull him aside. “We just had to calm Charlesette down a bit. All of this is making more than the nerves act up for her.”

“What do you mean?” Enjolras asked.

Eponine muffled a giggle as she put a hand on the swell of her stomach. “It looks like our little one will soon be the _second newest_ addition to our very large family.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Really now?”

“Charlesette has known for a while, and of course she’s told Courfeyrac and Armand,” Eponine said. “We wouldn’t have guessed if her stomach hadn’t been so upset earlier.”

“I see,” Enjolras said, knowing better than to question this display of women’s intuition.

In short order the room door opened again, this time admitting the bride. Somehow, even if the only change in her toilette had been the addition of a wreath and a hastily picked bouquet of autumn flowers, Charlesette suddenly seemed more radiant than before. She smiled widely as she reached Courfeyrac’s bedside in a few short steps. “No need to sit up, Maurice. You need to rest,” she said as her husband-to-be tried to sit up.

Courfeyrac smiled bravely and shook his head. “I only aim to get married once, and will make the best of it,” he said, managing to prop himself up on his elbows.

After the notary led the couple through the civil portion of the wedding, the priest stepped in, carrying his breviary. “To spare the energy of this couple, in this inauspicious time, we will make this short,” he said after the opening prayers. He looked first to Courfeyrac. “Do you, Maurice de Courfeyrac, take Charlesette to be your wife—do you promise to be faithful to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, to love and honor her all the days of your life?”

Courfeyrac nodded as he reached for Charlesette’s hand. “I do.”

The priest hummed before looking to Charlesette. “Do you, Charlesette Marie Karolyn, take Maurice to be your husband---do you promise to be faithful to her in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health and to love and honor him all the days of your life?”

Charlesette nodded as she squeezed Courfeyrac’s hand. “I do.”

The priest smiled as he shut his breviary. “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride!”

Courfeyrac smiled more broadly before pulling Charlesette as close as he dared. “With your leave, Citizenness Courfeyrac?” he asked.

“You didn’t even have to ask, Citizen Courfeyrac,” Charlesette laughed, closing the distance between them with a kiss.


	83. Petit Picpus Revisited

“That was all? Nothing more happened at the wedding yesterday?”

“Well, it wasn’t as if we could do the other traditions or hold a party right there in Courfeyrac’s hospital room at the Val du Grace!”

Cosette laughed and shook her head with disbelief. “After all of poor Charlesette’s planning, only to end up at a bedside wedding! Are they planning to have some sort of celebration once he is better?” she asked, smoothing down her hair.

“I don’t think so; Charlesette has always been more set on getting their household together and we both know how that occupies everything,” Eponine said with a shrug as she sat up on the couch in her friend’s living room at the Rue Saint-Honore. “I s’pose what we can do for them is to make this Christmas something special. Maybe two Yule Logs this year, since Bahorel was promised a large end of one already.”

“I’m sure we’ll think of something by then; it’s only the 17th of November and we have more than a month,” Cosette said. “But what did you want to see today at the convent in Picpus?”

“It’s not me who wants to do the seeing, it’s Citizen Riva,” Eponine clarified. “He’s looking for any traces from the convents near Paris before the 1789 Revolution. It’s something to do with his family, or rather his grandfather. He might have been a foundling or hidden here for some secret reason that he’s trying to find out.”

“There aren’t many nuns in the Little Convent who might have been around for that, but I can see why he would think so,” Cosette said. “But why would a Venetian be here in France?”

“Some secret reason to do with family, like hiding someone who wasn’t married. Antoine guesses that sort of thing happened in Venice sometimes especially with the patrician families there,” Eponine replied. “The nuns at Picpus did keep your secret.”

“It’s more of Father never actually telling them the whole story,” Cosette pointed out. “I’m not even sure what he told the nuns, to be honest.”

Eponine bit her lip even as a knock sounded on the door, which Cosette got up to answer. “Glad to see you here so early, _Signor_ Riva,” she greeted upon seeing the young Venetian enter the sitting room.

“Only because your husband asked to meet with me later today, _Signora_ Enjolras,” Riva said, bowing as he took off his floppy hat. He bowed once more to Cosette before kissing her hand. “I am thankful that you have received me today, _Signora_ Pontmercy.”

“Any friend of my friends is a friend of mine too,” Cosette said graciously as she showed their guest to a seat. “Could you tell me more about what you’re searching for?”

Giovanni Riva took a deep breath as he sat back. “I’m looking for any information on my grandfather, just to find out why he was born here in France. All I know was that he was a foundling or orphan, raised by a family here in Paris by the surname of Benoit, but since he was Italian or was told he was Italian, he was registered with the surname of Riva.”

Cosette nodded slowly. “But why the convents?”

“Because I was told convents were refuges, for secrets. I’m sure I was born from one.” Riva sighed as he pointed to his face. “If I had a ducat or coin for every time I was mistaken for a patrician’s son, I would be able to retire wealthy. I know my father was no patrician, but my grandfather might have been descended from one. If so, then his existence was a secret.”

“Which patricians have you been mistaken for?”

“Nearly every single one of the leading families, but Memmo and Mocenigo are the most common, I hate to say.”

‘ _Which cannot be easy to explain,’_ Eponine realized, remembering the prominence of these surnames in Venice. “Did you find anything already to lead you, while you’ve been away from Paris these past few days?”

“Only the names of these convents, but most of their properties have been appropriated or ruined; nearly all of them do not exist anymore,” Riva said as he brought out a rather worn list from one of his coat pockets. “Do any of them still have remnants though?”

Cosette quietly perused the paper for a few moments. “I recognize some of these orders from the Little Convent. The nuns who were from there have most likely passed on by now, but maybe there are a few who still remain. The only way for us to know is to visit.”

“You mean an interview?” Riva asked hopefully.

“Not from you. I shall be the one to attempt it,” Cosette said firmly. “The prioress now of the Benedictines, Mother Assumption, may remember me from when I was a student at the boarding school there at Picpus. I have written to her yesterday to make a schedule.”

“That would be many years ago,” Eponine remarked. “Then again, what does a nun have to remember besides the breviary, or lessons if she is teaching them?”

“Eponine, really!” Cosette chided, now going for her hat. She glanced over to the sound of running footsteps. “I’ll tell Marius we’re heading out, and have him take charge of Lucille and Jean. Who’s watching Etienne?”

“Chetta is. Actually she’s brought him over to stay with the Courfeyracs since she’s helping Charlesette set up house and maybe move Courfeyrac back there,” Eponine said before Cosette left the room. “And that’s an advantage of having you with me this way,” she addressed the bulge of her belly, feeling now the child within kick enthusiastically at her words.

Riva reddened slightly at this. “Shouldn’t a lady in your condition be confined, for your health and safety?”

“Staying shut up at home is all well and good if you can afford it,” Eponine scoffed. “Most women do have to work, and those who stay at home to take care of the children have to step out time and again to do errands or go to the market. Not everyone can afford servants to do things.”

“That is true, but isn’t it…” Riva trailed off awkwardly. “Everyone can see you.”

“I did tell someone that no Frenchman died from seeing his wife in the family way, and it shouldn’t make a difference to other ladies,” Eponine quipped.

“Do be merciful to poor Citizen Riva; he looks as if he would expire from embarrassment,” Cosette said, now reentering the room. “Shall we now? The convent is quite a carriage ride away.”

‘ _You mean on the other side of Paris from here,’_ Eponine thought as she picked up her hat and her shawl. In a few minutes, the three of them were in a fiacre bound for the neighborhood of Petit-Picpus, near the Pont d’Austerlitz.

Although Eponine had passed by the carriage gate of Number 62 Rue Petit-Picpus time and again in the years since being acquainted with this area of Paris, she never had much cause to give this house or its denizens much thought apart from what Cosette had told her in stories. “Did the nuns here live the same way as you students did?” she asked her friend as the carriage came to a stop near the ajar gate to the courtyard.

Cosette shook her head. “They wore black habits, we had blue schoolgirl dresses. When they weren’t teaching us, they had the whole Liturgy of the Hours to chant. They do much harsher penitence than we ever were allowed to have.”

“What sort of penitence?”

“For one thing, lying on the floor with arms stretched till the prioress says it is time to stand up again.”

“In front of the prioress?”

“Not just her, but all the nuns.”

Eponine shuddered even as they alighted from the carriage. ‘ _I’d die if I had to do that sort of thing,’_ she thought as she watched her friend speak to the porter at the gate. She glanced at Riva, who seemed to be hanging back. “Won’t you come in?”

The Venetian shook his head. “Only the Archbishop may freely visit a convent. Such privilege is not even permitted to male relatives, so what more to strangers?”

“Sad to say, he is right about not being allowed into the convent. The church is open to the public, and he can wait there,” Cosette explained. “The nuns do allow a gardener, but he would have to wear a bell. Father did so,” she added.

“How odd!” Eponine whispered as they were admitted into the grounds, where the porter showed Riva down the path to the church. She then followed Cosette into a vestibule that led to a stairway, which opened out onto a bright, sunlit corridor. The two women walked down this passage, towards a bare door that opened into a tiny room. “Why, there isn’t even a chair here!” Eponine muttered as they entered.

Cosette signed for her to be quiet. “This isn’t the receiving room anyway,” she said as she crossed the room to where there was a small hole in the wall, covered with a rusty iron grating. Cosette pulled a rope that was attached to a sort of wire, which then sounded a bell from what seemed to be a far-off room.

A step sounded from the other side of the wall, beyond the grating. “Who is there?” an old woman’s voice asked.

Cosette leaned in close to whisper something into the grating. “I have written to Mother Assumption,” she added more loudly.

For a moment all was silent, till the woman on the other side of the grille spoke again. “Enter on the right.”

Cosette took a deep breath and nodded to Eponine. “There will be chairs in the next room,” she said, going now to a glass door to one side of this chamber. Beyond this was a narrow sort of cubicle, dimly lit, with straw matting and two rush chairs situated next to a huge iron grating. Cosette waited for Eponine to take a seat before she closed the glass door. “I know it’s dim, but one gets used to the light,” she added apologetically as she took the other unoccupied chair.

“I s’pose it does keep people from being frightened of spiders, since one can’t see them!” Eponine said. The cramped gloom made her shiver all over, but she bit this back as she tried to accustom her eyes to the lack of light. She squinted as she looked towards the iron grating, which was also beginning to rust in some places. “Why do they have shutters even beyond that?” she asked, gesturing to some wood slates beyond the grille.

“To keep anyone from looking in, and the nuns from looking out,” Cosette said in a stage whisper. She motioned for Eponine to be silent. “I hear footsteps!”

A step sounded from beyond the grille and the slats. “I’m here. What do you wish with me?” another woman’s voice, one much younger than the first, asked.

“Mother Assumption, it’s me Cosette, the daughter of Monsieur Fauchelevent, your former gardener,” Cosette greeted. “I wrote to you today on an inquiry.”

“Ah yes, the Baronness Pontmercy,” Mother Assumption replied. “You were asking about the Little Convent?”

“To speak with the nuns there, Mother, on behalf of a friend.”

“You know that we hardly have any sisters there, my child. Most of them hardly recall anything anymore.”

Cosette bit back a sigh. “Not even Mother Jacob?”

“She passed last summer,” the nun replied. “But what is it you wish with them?”

“My friend is asking about the orders that used to be outside Paris, if any of them took foundlings. His grandfather was born in one, and he was at least part Italian.”

“Part Italian? How could you ascertain that?”

“That is what was told to him, and he was able to find some traces in Venice,” Cosette said a little awkwardly. “He only needs to confirm the truth here.”

Mother Assumption let out what would have passed for a sigh, had her voice not been very grave. “Once a child is commended to a family, all record of him or her is expunged. It will not be possible to trace what your friend is seeking.”

“I see. But would anyone remember?”

“No one who is living, my child.”

Eponine bit her lip and shook her head. “We need to go. Even Antoine said that this would be like mucking about in the dark.”

Cosette shook her head before speaking again. “Mother Assumption, I remember that there used to be letters kept in the Little Convent. Did anyone save those?”

“What letters?” the nun asked.

“I know Mother Jacob kept some; she used to show them to us schoolgirls when we visited,” Cosette replied. She shrugged on seeing Eponine’s incredulous look. “It happened only once or twice, but I remember,” she explained in a whisper.

“What sorts of letters were those, and who was she writing to?” Eponine wondered.

“To a friend in another congregation. I think letters were permitted under their rule,” Cosette said. She cleared her throat before addressing the grille again. “Mother Assumption?”

“We may have some from the Little Convent. I will ask one of the other sisters to fetch them,” Mother Assumption replied at length. “You may wait in the courtyard.”

“Thank you, Mother Assumption,” Cosette said. She waited for the sound of light footsteps to fade before she got to her feet in turn. “The garden isn’t at its best at this time of the year, but the fresh air will do us some good,” she said to Eponine.

“Do the nuns get time to also be outside under the sun?” Eponine asked as they made their way back down the hall.

“Now and then, mostly to watch the children,” Cosette replied. She sighed as they now stepped into the courtyard. “Things are worse than I thought. I don’t think they admit pupils anymore,” she said, gesturing to a deserted building in the middle of the grounds.

‘ _But surely the ladies who have studied here would send their girls here too?’_ Eponine wondered, now feeling her own child kick within her belly. “You were about eight when you came here. That’s about as old as Marie-Fantine is now. You never thought of sending her here?”

“I did think of it, a few times.”

“Then what happened?”

Cosette smiled wryly as she looked out over the garden, where the trees were bare while the few remaining bushes had run wild. “Of all the girls I studied with, I was the only one who had any sort of family with her. I was permitted to see Father for one hour a day, and that was almost always the best part of it all. The other girls only saw their parents during the holidays, and I’m certain that many of them were strangers to their own siblings. I could not have that happen to my own children.”

Eponine nodded slowly. “I never thought of it that way before.”

“Nor did I, till I saw how Marie-Fantine and Georges were getting on when they were still babies. You know how my daughter loves to laugh, and that trait would not do here,” Cosette added. Her hands fiddled with her bonnet string before she spoke again. “I think that even if the nuns wanted me to join them someday, it never would have suited me.”

“I do not know any woman it would have fitted. Except maybe your aunt by marriage,” Eponine teased.

Cosette shook her head. “Aunt has her own ways of devotion, which are not at all suited for living in a convent.” She grabbed Eponine’s arm gently. “Would you want to see where Father lived? I think that old hut is still there, at the end of the garden.”

“Well only if we will hear the portress or whoever will come looking for us,” Eponine said even as she followed her friend to one of the more shaded corners of the courtyard. Here stood what was once a hut, only now that its walls were collapsed inwards owing to the strain of the elements. Yet even in this ruin, she could still distinguish that this dwelling once had three rooms. “He had this all to himself?” she asked Cosette.

“He shared it with another gardener, whose name was also Fauchelevent.” Cosette smiled as she stepped past the hovel’s broken threshold and went to stand in a corner. “Here. I’d sit here, since he always had a chair for me. I’d listen to his stories or ask so many questions. Sometimes we’d just be quiet, and that was enough.”

“Wasn’t it ever cold in the winter?”

“If it was, I never heard him complain.”

Before Eponine could press on, the tolling of bells came from the church. “I s’pose that’s time for another prayer. We’d better hurry back before they forget about us altogether!”

Cosette nodded before they wordlessly headed back to the convent. They were met in the vestibule by Riva, who had with him a packet wrapped in torn parchment. “I was about to go look for you two _signoras_ ,” Riva said, indicating the packet. “The porter said this was handed down to him by the nuns?”

“Actually it is for you; Cosette was not able to find any nuns to talk to, at least face to face,” Eponine said. “You could consider letters as some way of talking.”

“The notes were from Mother Jacob; she used to live in the Little Convent there,” Cosette said, pointing to another deserted building. “Of all the nuns there, she was the one who wrote the most down.”

Riva nodded solemnly. “I hope these will shed light on the mystery.” He turned at the sound of the carriage gate rattling. “Why, someone wants to come in?”

‘ _I’d know that anywhere,’_ Eponine thought as she went to the gate. She peered out before throwing the gate wide open so she could step out to meet the man standing there. “Antoine? I thought you’d be at the Palais de Justice!”

“I was, for some time,” Enjolras replied. He was slightly red in the face, clearly from having run a great deal of the way to this house. “Is Citizen Riva with you?”

Eponine nodded before looking over her shoulder to where Cosette and Riva were now walking up to them. “I thought you were supposed to meet later today.”

“That was the original plan,” Enjolras said. “Some matters have changed, and we are both needed by Lamarre to address something that just came all the way from Milan.”


	84. Eyes from Berlin and Vienna

Upon locating his wife and their friends, Enjolras’ next order of business was to locate a discreet fiacre to convey them all to the Rue de Buffon. Only when they were in the safety of this conveyance did he speak again. “The _Moniteur’s_ foreign correspondents have reported this,” he said, bringing out a folded newspaper from his coat pocket. “There has been some foment in Milan, and the Austrians have imposed stringent measures over the north of Italy,” he explained, handing the broadsheet to Riva.

The Venetian paled as he read through the article. “An actual curfew? Patrols on every street corner?” he sputtered.

“To prevent foment, or at least that is what the presses state,” Enjolras deadpanned. ‘ _Or were told,’_ he thought even as Riva passed on the article to Eponine and Cosette.

Eponine’s brow furrowed as she read through the first lines of the article. “I s’pose this isn’t just in Milan, or the Austrians wouldn’t be so scared like geese about it. Is _Signor_ Agosta still with _Signor_ Mazzini in Milan?”

Riva shook his head. “He was supposed to return to Sicily some weeks ago.”

‘ _The actuality however might be different,’_ Enjolras told himself silently. “Did you notice anything unsettling or untoward during your travels outside of Paris?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“A person following you around, or shadowing your movements?”

Riva shrugged. “I hardly spoke with anyone on the road.”

Cosette shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I will take my leave when we get to the Rue de Buffon. I’d hate to be in the way of you all and Citizen Lamarre.”

“Oh, it won’t be long, and we did have plans for the day!” Eponine pleaded.

“I know how these meetings tend to go, Ponine. It’s diplomacy; you only planned to get Enjolras and Jacques out of trouble last summer, and you ended up being away for several weeks,” Cosette chided. “We’ll have time later this week, don’t you worry about it.”

“Besides, this is a delicate matter that will necessitate much discussion,” Enjolras reminded his wife, who was now handing the article back to him. He glanced down at the paper before him, emblazoned with the words: ‘CRACKDOWN IN SARDINIA AND LOMBARDY TO QUELL REBELLIOUS FOMENT’, just as the carriage finished crossing the Pont D’Austerlitz and made the last turn into the Rue de Buffon.

When they arrived at the diplomat’s residence, they found Lamarre waiting at the door leading to the street. “Not a moment too soon!” the beleaguered young man greeted. “Please do come in, and you as well, Citizenness Pontmercy!”

Cosette’s jaw dropped. “Even me?”

Lamarre nodded. “Yes, since we may need your husband’s assistance soon enough,” he said before ushering the four newcomers upstairs to his lodgings.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow on seeing Feuilly and Grantaire waiting there, as well as LeClerc and Victoria Calamy. “I take that it is not just the article from the _Moniteur_ that has gathered us here,” he deadpanned as he pulled out a chair for Eponine and another for Cosette before taking a seat near Riva’s.

Feuilly shook his head. “It was only a matter of time till either Prussia or Austria would take umbrage at recent developments, and not just the primer. Perhaps Citizen Riva could explain to some of us what has been going on in Milan?”

Riva flushed slightly as he sat up straight. “When I left Milan, _Signor_ Mazzini was firming up support in Lombardy and Sardinia, and he was contacting old friends from Young Italy and even the Carbonari. One of them is _Signor_ Giuseppe Garibaldi, a trustworthy ally who knows the ins and outs of rallying the troops. I am supposed to bring him safely to Milan, once he arrives on the Continent.”

LeClerc’s brow furrowed. “From what we know of _Signor_ Garibaldi, his presence would be construed as a provocation to the Austrians.”

“Who should not be in Italy in the first place.” Riva’s cheeks reddened more deeply. “I’m not supposed to say these things, not openly.”

“I believe given what has transpired over the summer with much of this present company the point of secrecy is moot,” Enjolras deadpanned. “How then is the situation in Venice?”

“ _Signor_ Contarini is trying to get more people, especially outside of the patrician families, to support the _Risorgimento_ ,” Riva said. “That has not been easy.”

‘ _Which may be why they need Citizen Garibaldi,’_ Enjolras realized. “I take that the Austrians have become more stringent there, even before they trained their eyes once more on Milan.”

Riva nodded quickly. “Apparently what happened in Rome was also traced back to what happened in Venice, and even in Tuscany.”

“I’ve already written to Ambassador Coquelin in Florence, and his reply should be here by the end of the month,” LeClerc said. “He has sent some interesting updates in the diplomatic packets, but we should remember that his situation in Tuscany is easier owing to their more autonomous rule under their current Prince.”

“I should follow up with Rome as well,” Lamarre muttered. “The replies haven’t been forthcoming, except for something from the journalists,” he added, now looking at Grantaire.

Grantaire grinned proudly. “Although I have not been assigned to cover the political doings of Zeus or Jupiter as he is known in those parts, I still glean a great deal from covering the dealings of the Muses on those seven hills.” He opened a bag that had been lying at his feet and produced some papers with a flourish. “Here are the results of their inspiration!”

Lamarre took the stack and raised an eyebrow at the first page. “This is a play.”

“One of several, and some poems too,” Grantaire replied.

LeClerc took half of the stack and perused a few pages before bursting into laughter. “How did this get past the censors?”

“Who’s to say it ever did?” Grantaire said mirthfully. “Mind you, these are the Papal States we are speaking of, not the Austrian authorities.”

Enjolras took a single sheet of paper and found himself face to face with what appeared to be a poem of three long stanzas. “I am sure when they say _libro giallo_ , they do not mean an actual yellow book?” he asked, pointing to a line in the middle of the poem.

“It is code,” Victoria pronounced, looking up from a work that Feuilly had passed to her. “Fairly obvious; I wouldn’t have made my cipher that way, but I take that this is perfectly understandable in Italian slang?” she asked, looking to Riva and the diplomats.

LeClerc nodded. “It is a sort of book.”

“A mystery. If this is going around in Rome, no wonder the Austrians are worried,” Riva said. “Then again, there is a thrill when it comes to subverting the Papacy itself.”

Cosette’s eyes widened. “The Papacy?”

“You remember that an actual cardinal went for me and Antoine, and we had to get out of Rome as soon as possible,” Eponine said mirthfully. She pulled out another sheet in the sheaf, and frowned at its contents. “I don’t know how to make pasta on its own, but isn’t this a _lot_ of flour for cooking it?” she asked, holding up a recipe for tagliatelle.

“Let me see that,” Feuilly asked. He snorted as he perused the paper. “I saw the same trick once, with a recipe for _pierogi_ from Poland.”

“It’s code, I’m sure. No Italian woman writes down her recipe for pasta, or at least does not write it down to share,” Riva said. “I know my mother wouldn’t.”

“Your mother doesn’t even cook!” LeClerc sputtered.

“Well, not usually!”

Lamarre held up a hand for order. “Are these being circulated even outside Rome?” he asked Grantaire.

“Very liberally. What better way to fuel the _Risorgimento_ than to feed, wine, and sing it?’ Grantaire laughed.

“This is all well and good, but surely the Austrians have enough on their side who can decipher even these codes,” Enjolras remarked. “Especially the more obvious ones involving food.”

“That is part of the problem,” Riva said. “This is why some plans have miscarried rather recently, before my departure. Some people are still relaying information to Vienna.”

Cosette looked up from studying a poem. “Might I ask why you said that my husband might have to be involved in this?” she asked Lamarre.

“Over a recent development concerning Austria’s neighbor, Prussia,” Victoria said. “As Eponine knows already, I have been asked to keep my eyes on developments there, especially since the ambassador there is quite less than astute with espionage.”

“Citizen Belmont is not quite capable of the duplicity needed with espionage, which makes him a trustworthy person,” Enjolras retorted.

“It makes him a fool in the post,” Victoria pointed out. “You are not particularly well versed in the affairs of Prussia and the confederacy, I heard?”

“Admittedly no, as my mission was to the Mediterranean.”

“Then it is about time you started brushing up on that, as the balance of power is inextricably linked,” Victoria said, now bringing out some letters. “I found a damned spy outside my lodgings, and my husband dealt with him accordingly. I need a translator now, who will have enough courage to do the right thing by these!”


	85. Too Many Worries to Juggle

‘ _It could have been any other language, but it just had to be German,’_ Eponine groused silently an hour later as she, Enjolras, Cosette, and Lamarre were in a fiacre bound for the Pontmercys’ home on the Rue Saint-Honore. She bit her lip when she saw Cosette wringing her hands. “I’m sorry that we’ll have to ask Marius to help out; I know that you never wanted to get him or your family involved in this sort of thing,” she said.

Cosette looked at Eponine gravely. “There’s simply no one else you can trust for this. I understand that perfectly well.”

“You have the option to not be involved, or to veto your husband’s involvement,” Enjolras said evenly. “This has to be a decision from both of you.”

“It was made for me the moment Citizen Riva asked me for help with tracing his lineage; I am sure people saw us going into Picpus,” Cosette replied more resolutely. Her smile was wry as the carriage came to a stop outside of her home. “I will go in first, then you can follow after a minute or two,” she said before alighting from the fiacre.

Lamarre waited for Cosette to enter her home and close the door before he let out a deep sigh. “This will be precarious. Do you think he will be up to it?”

“Even if he is capable for the task at hand, it will all come down to his volition,” Enjolras said firmly. He glanced out the fiacre window and nodded. “We should go in now.”

Eponine looked over to see Cosette standing at the door, anxiously motioning for them to step inside. “I s’pose it is a ‘no’?” she asked in an undertone.

“He wants to know more about what is going on,” Cosette replied. “He’s been spending the whole day drawing up that prenuptial agreement for his aunt.”

‘ _We almost forgot about that,’_ Eponine realized even as she saw Cosette motion for Lamarre to enter Marius’ study near the front door. “Shouldn’t we go in with them?” she asked Enjolras, who was standing by with a pensive look on his face.

“I believe the evidence, or rather the letters, that Lamarre has should be enough for him to decide,” Enjolras said. He looked at Eponine seriously. “After what happened to Courfeyrac, I would understand if Pontmercy turns this request down.”

“Maybe if we go in, he might agree to help.”

“On the contrary it might put undue pressure on him to participate where he would prefer to be distant.”

Eponine bit her lip, even as she heard the hubbub of discussion coming from the study. “Do you think that this is getting too dangerous even for us?” she asked, slipping her hand into her husband’s own.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow even as he closed the distance between them. “Eponine, are you asking if there will be a point when we will have to abandon this endeavor?”

“I s’pose, but it is not in you to give up on something so big.”

“For my part I intend to see this through to its logical conclusion. You are not bound to do the same, however.”

Eponine shook her head and laughed. “I followed you to Venice to try to keep you safe, and have been with you in nearly every trouble before that and since then! You think that I’d be afraid here in Paris?”

“Not you, but there are our children to consider,” Enjolras pointed out. “It would not be seemly to leave them orphaned.”

“Antoine, don’t talk like that.”

“It is still a matter of concern. Inasmuch as your expertise is valuable in this whole diplomatic entanglement, I would rather not have you in peril.”

‘ _As if I didn’t know my way about!’_ Eponine thought, but before she could voice out this protest, she realized that her husband’s serious mien had grown pensive and even worried. “As I’ve promised you before, I will not let you lose me,” she said, tightening her grip on Enjolras’ hand. “You’ll get that primer published, we’ll figure out this mystery and once our baby has arrived, we’ll have an easier time of things.”

“Easier being a relative term,” Enjolras said even as the study door opened. “Well then?” he asked Lamarre as he stepped out.

“He says this isn’t a good time because of other pressing business,” Lamarre replied. “That pressing business, he wants to speak with you about.”

‘ _About my father, certainly,’_ Eponine realized, tugging on Enjolras’ hand to lead him into the study. She bit her lip on seeing Cosette talking intently with Marius. “I’m sorry about this. It was partly my idea to ask you to help,” she said.

“It isn’t what you think, Eponine. I would be more than happy to help, just not at this time,” Marius said, looking up from his conversation with Cosette. “I don’t know how you two can still get so involved with this mess, when you have a family to care for,” he added, looking at Enjolras.

“The better to finish up this matter before it gets even more out of hand,” Enjolras replied. “I take that this is not what you wish to discuss with us?”

The younger lawyer pointed to a stack of papers on his desk. “I’ve taken over drafting that prenuptial agreement for my aunt. Courfeyrac will still do the final edits, once he is able. If you must know, he is doing much better today.”

“Of course he is, what with Charlesette caring for him,” Eponine quipped. “But what do you need us for?”

“I need you to attest to some things, such as if your father bequeathed you anything,” Marius said. “It’s part of the declaration of assets needed for the prenuptial agreement.”

Eponine burst out laughing. “If he had anything to his name, he did not bring it out during the time my siblings and I lived with him.”

“It is just a formality,” Marius said, noting this down. “Nothing to Azelma?”

“None, to my knowledge, but I s’pose you should ask her to be sure.”

“I see. To your brothers?”

Eponine shook her head. “You know how they stand with him, and as for Neville and Jacques it won’t be my father handing down anything to them; it will be from me and Antoine now.”

Marius nodded slowly as he continued to write. “He did own that inn in Montfermeil?”

“Yes, and he lost it to debts,” Eponine said. “Will you note that down too?”

“Everything, unfortunately. One doesn’t marry riches, but debt as well,” Marius said seriously. He shook his head as he looked over his handiwork. “I’ll spare you both the details, but this is not going to be something he’ll be happy to read about when I’m done.”


	86. Studies in Felicity

Inasmuch as Enjolras wished to devote his energies to helping Lamarre with finding a German translator or Marius with drafting the agreement for Celestine Gillenormand, he found the next few days suddenly taken up with more primer revisions as well as handling a few minor cases. “Anyone else would consider that workload a respite. You on the other hand seem restless,” Combeferre remarked one afternoon when he visited his friend at the Palais de Justice.

“Only for knowing that other urgent matters must be attended to,” Enjolras replied, setting aside a folder he had been leafing through. 

“Yes, but not everyone can spend each day on heroic, grand affairs,” Combeferre reminded him. “Our professions, or vocations as sometimes they are referred to, are also meant to put food on our families’ tables.”

Enjolras smiled ruefully at this just as he heard a familiar knock on his office door. ‘ _What business brings Pontmercy here?’_ he wondered even as he crossed the room to admit this newcomer. “Is there anything I can help you with?” he asked by way of greeting.

“Rather, I think there is an opportunity for me now to help you,” Marius answered energetically. “I have just spoken with Citizen Lamarre and offered to be your translator for the German texts.”

Enjolras glanced at Combeferre, who now wore an astounded expression, before nodding for Marius to shut the office door behind him. “If it is not imprudent to ask, why the sudden change in your decision?” he inquired.

“Not just my decision, but also Cosette’s,” Marius clarified. “We gave things some more thought, asking ourselves if there was more that we could do besides simply sorting out our family’s affairs. Then Cosette told me a story about her father from back before he became a mayor at Montreuil-sur-mer.”

Enjolras nodded at the mention of Jean Valjean. “Go on.”

Marius stood up straighter. “Not many people remember this, but he was actually reluctant to ascend to that position. Then one day an old woman called to him, asking if he was holding back from what good he might do there. It was a simple encounter, but one that marked him and his destiny profoundly.”

“For better, I believe,” Combeferre said. “This was enough for you to make that decision?”

“For me and Cosette,” Marius replied more firmly. “After all, this is just for the purpose of translating the documents that Mrs. Calamy acquired.”

“You do know that in this exercise of diplomacy, what starts as one task soon turns into a dozen,” Enjolras pointed out. “You will soon be needed for other things.”

Marius nodded resolutely. “Cosette and I are aware of this, and I am ready for what may come. What else are you expecting?”

“Other inquiries from other embassies,” Enjolras deadpanned. ‘ _That, among other matters,’_ he thought even as he half-listened to Marius asking Combeferre about keeping his younger children from coming down with colds that coming winter.

At length Marius cleared his throat and looked at Enjolras then at Combeferre. “I will be visiting Courfeyrac now. Do both of you wish to join us?”

“Not today; I did visit him yesterday, and Claudine needs my help today making a lecture,” Combeferre said politely.

“I will go for a short while,” Enjolras replied. ‘ _After all the Quai de Ecole is not too far off,’_ he decided silently as he capped his inkwell and put away his papers. After a few minutes Combeferre took his leave, then Enjolras and Marius headed downstairs towards the Pont Neuf, which led to the neighborhood of the Quai de Ecole.

When they arrived at the Courfeyrac family’s apartment, they found their friend sitting up in the living room, wearing a dressing gown over the clean bandages that swathed his midsection. Despite his still healing injuries, he had put on some weight and his cheeks had regained their ruddiness. He grinned when he saw his friends. “Finally, I welcome you to a nest instead of a hovel,” he greeted as he motioned for them to find seats.

“You were doing well enough for yourself and Armand before,” Enjolras pointed out. “Speaking of Armand, is he at school?”

Courfeyrac nodded. “Charlesette is fetching him from his classes now.” He smiled contentedly as he sat back on a settee. “I must say, Combeferre and Joly should start prescribing matrimony as a cure for some ills.”

Marius burst out laughing. “To think it took you so long to get around to it!”

“I must confess I ask myself that same thing sometimes,” Courfeyrac said. His smile brightened as the door opened and Charlesette entered with Armand. “How has your day been?” he asked as Armand ran up to sit on his lap.

“Splendid!” Armand said cheerfully before giving Enjolras and Marius a salute. “Will you be staying for dinner, Uncle Enjolras, Uncle Pontmercy?”

“Unfortunately, not today,” Enjolras told his godson. “It’s good to see you and your stepmother getting on so well.”

Armand frowned quizzically. “That’s a horrible word, Uncle.”

“He simply calls me by my given name,” Charlesette replied candidly. “It’s a step up from being known as an aunt,” she added in Occitan.

“It works well for all of us,” Courfeyrac added as Armand got up and ran to his own room. Courfeyrac pointed to a bag that Marius was carrying. “Is that what I think it is?”

“It is, but should you really? You might set your recovery back,” Marius said cautiously.

“I need to make sure these gears do not gather rust,” Courfeyrac insisted. He was silent for a few moments as he perused the prenuptial agreement that Marius had drafted. “Is this correct that Citizen Thenardier will not be bringing anything into his upcoming marriage?”

“Not a sou,” Enjolras said. “Eponine has attested to that, at least.”

“So has Azelma. I also asked Gavroche but he declined to comment. Citizen Thenardier’s business is clandestine, and he has no properties or even petty items to his name. Nor has he passed anything to his children by way of inheritance or trust,” Marius replied. He shook his head with disgust. “In other circumstances this would be an odious match.”

“When you are rich enough, you can get away with anything,” Charlesette remarked as she went to sit with Courfeyrac. “That’s all that money is good for, a shield against calumny.”

“As well as against the upcoming winter,” Enjolras pointed out. “One might say he mainly needs a roof over his head and has decided to marry his way into it.”

Charlesette rolled her eyes. “What then of honest work?”

‘ _It’s one thing he is incapable of,’_ Enjolras thought even as he waved away the question. “How Citizen Thenardier decides to feed and lodge himself is not my affair, even if he is my father-in-law. It only has become a cause of concern because of the way it touches onto my family.”

“You and Eponine should tell us more of it, maybe over dinner once Maurice is better.”

“That would be an impropriety, considering that there are legal matters to be managed.”

“Enjolras is right,” Courfeyrac said, setting the drafted agreement aside. His merry face was pensive as he regarded Charlesette and then their friends. “I don’t have much to say about the bride there, but I do pity her. Such a woman needs to be protected from such rogues, and her intended is among the worst of them all.”


	87. Vain Efforts

“Do they actually intend to give Father that agreement for him to sign tonight, and hope that will be the end of everything?”

“Yes, but I s’pose the more difficult part will be getting Citizenness Gillenormand to sign.”

Azelma shook her head and burst out laughing even as she sat at her sister’s kitchen table, taking care not to trip on Etienne, who was playing nearby. “The old gent simply needs to insist about it, and she will sign,” she said as she put her feet up on an upturned basket. “Are you going to be there when that agreement is signed?”

“It won’t go well if I am around,” Eponine said as she dropped some freshly peeled garlic cloves into a pot of chicken. She bit her lip as she looked out on the golden light of an afternoon in early December. “Besides, what good would it do?”

“Well, it would help my brother. I know he doesn’t show it, but Enjolras does get affected by the horrible things that our father says,” Azelma pointed out. “You could tell me and Gavroche the story too, maybe after the wedding tomorrow.”

“I’ll go for Antoine’s sake, but I should be in the next room only and not in the room where the signing will be,” Eponine said. The recollection of her husband’s drawn look after their last confrontation with Thenardier was enough to have her sighing. “Aren’t you going to go?”

Azelma shook her head again. “He’ll wheedle and cajole, and then what would happen? That would be even worse than you being there.”

‘ _She’s worried she’d cave the moment he asks her to stand up for him,’_ Eponine realized as she stirred the garlic until she finally got a whiff of its heady fragrance. She reached for a cup of chicken stock next to the stove and stirred it into the pot of chicken and garlic. “I’m sure that we’ll hear something of it. Enough of that though, how are things with you?”

“Fantastic; Jehan isn’t making a new play just yet but he’s writing a new cycle of poems,” Azelma said. “That gives me some time for other projects and to help Maximillien with his flute lessons. He’s quite proficient.”

“I’d like to hear him play some time,” Eponine said, placing a hand on her own belly when she felt her child kick hard. “Easy now, it won’t do good to knock the breath out of me!” she chided.

Azelma laughed knowingly. “I’d rather have that than the quiet. You remember how Maximillien barely kicked, and how that frightened me for a bit? I’d take him being loud and rambunctious as he is any day.”

“That’s true,” Eponine conceded even as she heard a knock on the door. Before she could set down her cooking, Azelma had already left the kitchen and soon returned with Grantaire in tow. “I see you’ve got some news, Capital R?” Eponine greeted their friend breezily.

“I am Iris bearing ill tidings,” Grantaire said wryly as he took a seat. “What are you cooking, Provencal chicken?”

“How did you know?”

“Most of that part of the Midi smells like garlic.”

“So does Paris, and even Italy, so shall we say garlic is universal?” Eponine quipped. “But what news do you have?”

Grantaire sighed dramatically. “You have a Menelaus in your home.”

Eponine raised an eyebrow at this reference to this Greek figure. “Last time I checked, no one was sailing to Troy.”

Grantaire cracked his knuckles. “Yesterday I was at a reception at the Abbaye Aux-Bois, that old haunt of Citizenness Recamier and Citizen Chateaubriand. Those two of the old guard have opened their drawing room to guests from all over, to bring an early start to the Christmas festivities. I was in the company of my muse Nicholine with some of her worshippers, when I saw some of the Spanish company make an entrance. And who should I see on the arm of some hulking hombre but a certain Helen who has been the cause of some ruckus lately.”

Eponine’s jaw dropped as it dawned on her who Grantaire was referring to. “Are you absolutely sure it was her?”

“As certain as Icarus fell into the sea,” Grantaire said. “I thought of greeting them, but Nicholine told me to hang back and listen. She was right; we heard that girl and her companions talking about the riches she would have, beginning the day she would have a particular sort of ring on her finger.”

“Who was the gentleman?” Azelma pressed on.

“ _Se_ _ñ_ _or_ Rafael Dominguez, a smalltime landowner but larger scale merchant,” Grantaire said officiously. “Definitely he has had time to establish himself.”

Eponine winced while Azelma clucked her tongue loudly. “Poor Jacques,” Eponine whispered as she turned back her attention to stirring the pot of garlic and chicken. After a few moments she put the lid on the pot and wiped her hands on her skirt. “Was Clarita de Polignac there?”

Grantaire nodded. “She was very much encouraging the matter, although I dare not call her ‘Aphrodite’ to her face.”

Azelma swore as she put her hands in her lap. “Maybe we should have a word with her. The nerve, encouraging Jacques and that hussy to elope, and now this!”

“There might be more to the story than it seems---” Eponine began even as she heard the front door open once again. ‘ _And not a moment sooner,’_ she realized, turning now to see Etienne toddle out of the kitchen, only to return a few moments later with Laure and Julien. Neville and Jacques brought up the rear, the former all sympathy while the latter appeared on the verge of tears. “How goes it with all of you?” she managed to ask in a level tone.

Jacques looked up at Eponine bitterly. “She’s gone off with another man. Are you happy now?” he asked before throwing down his satchel and then running upstairs.

Neville rolled his eyes. “I was just telling him that it was better that he found out now, instead of ending up married to a gold-digger---”

“Neville!” Eponine chided.

Laure tugged at her hair ribbon. “What’s a gold-digger, Maman?”

‘ _Now he’s done it,’_ Eponine thought, biting her lip even as Azelma groaned while Grantaire burst out laughing. “It’s not the sort of person that someone should end up marrying,” she said. She looked to Neville, who was ushering the younger boys out of the kitchen. “How did he find out?”

“They had some words near the Place Saint-Sulpice, where she gave him back some thing he’d given her,” Neville explained. “It wasn’t a ring, don’t you worry!” he added quickly.

“If it was a ring, we’d have quite a ruckus,” Eponine pointed out. She sighed on seeing Laure still intently listening to this conversation. “You’d better run along now and start up with your assignments,” she told the child.

“But what about Jacques?” Laure asked worriedly.

“I s’pose I should have your father deal with him later,” Eponine said. ‘ _Hopefully he will have time for a quick talk before the rest of the night’s work,’_ she thought as she brought out her pocketwatch to start counting down the hours.


	88. When Money Talks Too Loudly

Much to Enjolras’ amusement, the parade of visitors that usually plagued him at his office stopped the day he began leaving the door open to receive them. ‘ _Perhaps curiosity and idleness surpass the actual necessity of calling,’_ he observed on the afternoon of December 7 as he finished up writing some papers for the day. He glanced at his watch, which showed the time to be just past 4 in the afternoon. ‘ _There should be enough time to set things in order before meeting at the Gillenormand residence tonight,’_ he decided silently.

As he left the Palais de Justice, he caught sight of Audric de Polignac waiting at the opposite end of the square. Enjolras nodded to this younger man, who tipped his straw hat before crossing the square with an uncertain gait. “It appears as if you have news,” Enjolras said by way of greeting.

“News only because I am an eyewitness. It would be gossip if it were coming from anyone else,” de Polignac said, now doffing his hat entirely. “Has your boy Jacques intimated any…troubles to you recently?”

‘ _If only he was mentioning anything at all,’_ Enjolras thought, but he simply shook his head. “I take that this involves Citizenness Villanueva?”

“Rather soon to be _Se_ _ñ_ _ora_ Dominguez,” de Polignac said in an undertone. “The gentleman is also a new arrival from Spain, but in a significantly better…situation. He has made an offer of marriage, and she has accepted.”

It was all that Enjolras could do to keep a straight face at this information. “An understandable consideration, but has she broken this to Jacques yet?”

“If she has not yet already, she will soon enough. Perhaps today,” de Polignac said in a more hushed voice. His face reddened before he spoke again. “Between you and me, your son Jacques would be the perfect match for Imelda, once they are older. But of course, it is her choice to pursue other qualities….”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow, seeing how de Polignac was unable to continue. “I take that this is bordering on the indelicate?”

“Some matters of fortune, such as Jacques being one of four sons, and a second son at that, were mentioned,” de Polignac mumbled. “I’m sure you understand; you and I are both only sons and that position comes with certain advantages.”

“Yes, the question of inheritance,” Enjolras said to himself through gritted teeth, already tasting bile in the back of his mouth. Nevertheless, he managed a wry smile when he met de Polignac’s discomfited look. “All the same, I thank you for this intelligence, my friend.”

“Friend, yes. For my part and yours, we are friends,” de Polignac said ruefully. “I only wish that our respective partners had not ended up at odds with each other, when I thought they would become friends as well!”

‘ _So did I,’_ Enjolras thought even as he shook de Polignac’s proffered hand. “Perhaps that will mend itself, given more time. For now, please tell the young lady that I at least congratulate her on a fortuitous match.”

De Polignac winced for a moment but nodded. “I will make sure to extend this greeting. Good day to you, and my regards to your family as well.”

Enjolras tipped his hat even as de Polignac now made his way to where some other Spanish gentlemen were waiting by a fiacre. ‘ _Perhaps there is time yet to head off this storm,’_ he decided silently as he now went to find an omnibus headed back to the Latin Quartier.

When he arrived at 9 Rue Guisarde, he stopped for a moment at the threshold just to breathe in the rich, familiar aroma of garlic mingled with cooked chicken. Even as he did so, he caught sight of Julien now rushing up to him. “Is everything well, little man?” he greeted the golden-haired boy as he scooped him up.

Julien shook his head somberly. “Jacques is sad.”

‘ _So much for that,’_ Enjolras realized, doing his best to keep a straight face. “Is he upstairs now?” he asked.

“Yes, but do give him a moment,” Eponine chimed in, now making her appearance while still holding a wooden spoon. “I’ve only just managed to chase off Neville, Laure, and Etienne from trying to pester him to come out from his room.”

“I’ll have to talk with your mother for a little while. Tell the others I’m home,” Enjolras instructed Julien, setting him back on his feet. He waited for the child to scamper off before crossing the room to where Eponine stood, biting her lip pensively. “De Polignac let me know about the matter. I take that you received the fallout of this sordid saga?” he asked.

Eponine nodded with a frown crossing her face. “I s’pose I was a bit prepared because Capital R told me and Zelma all about it today,” she said, not hiding her distaste. “He saw Imelda Villanueva and her…paramour at some reception at Chateaubriand’s.”

“Rather, her future husband.”

“That little flirt!”

“There is nothing more to be done than to wish her well and all the congratulations at such a timely match,” Enjolras said evenly.

Eponine’s jaw dropped at these words. “Antoine, you’re terrible! Did you actually say that, or ask de Polignac to tell her so?”

“It would be the only polite thing, and whether she receives this graciously is more telling of her than it is on us,” Enjolras pointed out. “We will need to practice that form of congratulations for tomorrow anyway, and the days to come.”

Eponine rolled her eyes even as she began straightening out his shirt cuffs. “About _that_ one, will you be going with Courfeyrac, Marius, and Bossuet to the Marais tonight?”

“Yes. This is our last opportunity before the wedding. What about it?”

“I’ve decided to go with you there.”

Enjolras clasped her hand. “Are you sure about this? Combeferre and Joly warned against your being unduly distressed.”

“Yes, but no one’s said anything about _your_ being troubled,” Eponine pointed out. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek before touching his face. “I know how my father’s words sometimes get to you, and that’s the last thing you need when dealing with something so serious like stopping his wedding.”

“It won’t be stopping his nuptials _per se_ but it will give him something to think about before daring to appear before the mayor or at Notre Dame.”

“What do you mean?”

“Consider it a test of his intentions,” Enjolras said, earning him a baffled look from his wife. “That will be for tonight. For now, where is Jacques?”

Eponine gestured upwards with her wooden spoon. “I don’t think he’ll head down to join the rest of the children for dinner, but he will want to speak with you more than with me.”

“I hope that is the case,” Enjolras said, kissing Eponine’s forehead before heading upstairs. Even from the hallway he could hear Jacques’ muffled sobs through his bedroom door. He knocked twice and cleared his throat. “Jacques, can you spare a few minutes?” he asked in a level tone.

“She left me. Aren’t you happy about it?” Jacques replied, his voice mingled with vitriol.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow but did not open the door or knock once again. “What gave you that impression?” he asked.

“Isn’t that what you want?” Jacques retorted. “You never approved of her anyway.”

“To put it plainly, I cannot condone her actions, nor some of yours,” Enjolras pointed out. ‘ _That being said, her present need would explain her sudden decision,’_ he thought even as he now heard Jacques’ footsteps crossing the room.

The boy’s face was reddened and soaked with tears when he opened the door. “How did you do it?” he asked Enjolras.

“Do what exactly?”

“Get Ponine to love and marry you.”

Enjolras sighed deeply at this query. “I’m not sure if you remember the details, but I only treated her with the respect and affection she deserved. I would not have importuned her if she had chosen differently.”

Jacques scowled as he tried to wipe his face. “She would have chosen that lancer, if it hadn’t been for you. How did you do it?”

“She made her choice,” Enjolras said more firmly. “It is not up to any man or woman to dictate on another in such personal matters.”

For a moment Jacques said nothing, preferring instead to stifle his sniffles. “She said something about money, how I will not inherit enough for her.”

“That was a highly imprudent remark.”

“But _am_ I going to be poor, Father?”

Enjolras rubbed his temples as he regarded Jacques’ forlorn face. “I have no doubt that on your own, inheritance or none, you will make enough to have you and your family live in comfort, far more than your sisters or Gavroche had growing up. As to the question of your inheritance, that is better settled in the future, hopefully many years from now. You after all have my parents to consider in this matter as well,” he said sternly.

It was only then that Jacques cringed, clearly realizing the implications of this query. “But why would she bother? Wasn’t my saying that I love her going to enough?”

“In other circumstances of age and politics, yes perhaps. As it is, with her rather disenfranchised and living on her family’s sufferance, no,” Enjolras pointed out. ‘ _Even if those circumstances were more favorable, perhaps her outlook would run contrary to Jacques’ own, especially some years down the road,’_ he reflected silently as he watched Jacques making a better effort at composing himself.

It was just then that Laure tiptoed into the hallway. “Maman is asking if you will both come down for dinner,” she asked in a stage whisper.

“In a few moments, _petite_ ,” Enjolras replied. He nodded to Jacques. “You should join us as well, even for a while.”

Jacques shook his head. “I’m not hungry, Father.”

‘ _As expected,’_ Enjolras thought, making a mental note to have some food sent up for the obviously stricken teenager. After Jacques retreated to his room, he scooped up Laure, who had a pensive look on her face. “What is the matter?”

“Neville said that you and Maman had to go out tonight to help Uncle Marius get rid of a bad man,” Laure said, tugging at her curls.

“What about it?”

“Is it that same bad man who was at your big birthday dinner?”

‘ _Of all things for her to ask,’_ Enjolras thought, willing himself to keep a straight face even as they reached the stairway. “He is up to some rather terrible mischief that needs lawyers to sort out,” he explained.

Laure’s nose crinkled as she scowled. “Why can’t you just tell Uncle Gavroche to lock him up in La Force?”

“It’s not that simple,” Enjolras said. ‘ _For one thing, he’s escaped from that very prison before,’_ he thought, hoping that Laure’s attention would soon be diverted by their dinner. Much to his relief, the very aroma of the food was enough to distract the child as well as the rest of the household already gathered at the dining table.

By half past six that evening, Enjolras and Eponine were already _en route_ to 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire. They arrived to find the house’s upper and lower storeys all aglow, as if for some party or send-off. “If they are celebrating, this would be an inopportune time,” Enjolras remarked as they alighted from a fiacre.

“It’s my father’s second marriage. That would be awful of him,” Eponine muttered. She waved to someone standing in the doorway. “Are we late, Bossuet?”

“Pontmercy is exchanging a few pleasantries with his grandfather upstairs, but we should be ready to commence shortly,” Bossuet greeted them cheerily before giving Eponine a worried look. “Are you sure you should be here?”

“I’m the only one of the groom’s family willing to manage this,” Eponine replied. Even so, her twisted left hand slipped into Enjolras’ own palm. “Antoine and I will do this together.”

“The sooner this is over, the better. Where will we meet the soon to be wedded pair?” Enjolras asked Bossuet.

“In the study. Courfeyrac believes it would be best to have Citizenness Gillenormand sign first, then Citizen Thenardier,” Bossuet said in an undertone as they entered the house.

“It is only fair since the agreement revolves primarily around the holdings of the former,” Enjolras agreed. Inasmuch as he could not help but smile to himself on seeing the wisdom in his friend’s tactic, he willed himself to adopt a more sober demeanor upon being admitted to the study. “Good evening to you, friends,” he said, nodding first to Courfeyrac and Marius. “To you as well, Citizen Gillenormand,” he added, looking to the centenarian at Marius’ side.

Luc-Esprit Gillenormand squinted at Enjolras. “Why there again are there so many of you?”

“I’ve already explained it, Grandfather,” Marius said. “Should I fetch my aunt, or will you?”

“I’ll reason with her myself; my girl will always obey the Fourth Commandment,” Luc-Esprit Gillenormand said, waving Marius off as he got to his feet. Yet even as he did so, the study door opened once more. “There you are, my daughter,” he said by way of greeting.

Celestine Gillenormand pursed her lips disapprovingly as she looked at her father, then at the rest of the group. “We have an early day tomorrow, Father. We shouldn’t be having guests,” she said chidingly.

“We are discussing some necessary preparations,” Luc-Esprit Gillenormand said, motioning for her to have a seat. He placed one spindly finger atop several sheets of paper stacked up on the table. “From tomorrow you will be the mistress of _chez_ Thenardier, making this home into two once again. I want to make sure that you will be provided for.”

Celestine Gillenormand frowned as she took the document and gave it a cursory look. “I have a husband who will help me with these affairs,” she said flatly.

“A husband who was not mentioned in the legal arrangements that have bequeathed your fortune to you,” Courfeyrac now chimed in. “This document outlines those arrangements and makes them easier to work with during your marriage. You will not have to worry about dividing your properties in advance or having it administered by your husband, who will surely have his own enterprises to consider.”

“What is mine is his,” Celestine Gillenormand argued. “I intend to help him out.”

“These are difficult times, daughter,” Luc-Esprit Gillenormand said more gently. “I’d hate to see Hymen and Eros stolen away by the tricks of Croesus. Should these enterprises fail, which many of them do what with all the new-fangled ideas of this generation, you and your husband will still have something to live on.”

For a few moments, Celestine Gillenormand was silent as she reviewed the contract once more. “If I sign this, then you must make sure that you will not turn out my husband if I should pass before him,” she said to her father in a serious voice. “That is the only thing I ask.”

“He will live with me, and I will teach him how to be a widower,” Luc-Esprit Gillenormand promised cheerily.

‘ _That is a situation we did not foresee,’_ Enjolras thought even as he saw Eponine and Marius cringe while Courfeyrac and Bossuet merely sighed. “Are there any other terms you wish to discuss?” he asked the Gillenormands.

“That is the only one. After all who knows the day or the hour?” Celestine Gillenormand said as she picked up the pen to sign on each page. “I shall call Nicolas then to sign this.”

“Thank you,” Luc-Esprit Gillenormand said. He shook his head once his daughter had left and shut the door. “Such a common name! Was he born on the feast day of that saint?”

Eponine shrugged. “I wouldn’t remember; he never seems to celebrate his birthday at the same time of each year.”

Courfeyrac opened his mouth as if to make a quip on this, but just at that moment the study door swung open again. “Glad you could join us, Citizen Thenardier,” he said quickly.

Thenardier scowled at him, Bossuet, and Marius, then glared at Eponine and Enjolras momentarily before nodding more deferentially to Luc-Esprit Gillenormand. “What is this about?” he asked, taking a seat. His clothes were slightly askew, but he did not smell as if he had been imbibing.

“We were finalizing some arrangements that concern my fortune and my daughter’s fortune, which you will have to know of,” Luc-Esprit Gillenormand said. “If you are to be happy in this wedlock, then you must take heed,” he added, pushing the signed contract forward.

Thenardier’s frown deepened as he looked at the first page, then the second. “What sort of trickery is this?”

“This is not trickery, it is simply outlining what your bride, my aunt, will be bringing into the marriage,” Marius now said, putting his hands on the table. “In case she has not yet told you, she and my mother were set to inherit a great deal through my grandmother, their mother’s side of the family. Since my mother has been dead many years, the fortune passes entirely to my aunt. It is not only money in the bank, but it is bonds and some properties which cannot be easily divided.”

“Bah, it is all money!”

“Money that will not be available to you, readily.”

At these words, Thenardier began to read through the contract very slowly. “This then means that as her husband, I will not be in charge of our properties?” he asked.

“What you acquire together is not part of this contract. What she has acquired before is what is outlined here,” Courfeyrac said, clearly trying not to smile too widely.

Thenardier let go of the papers as if they were hot coals. “Is this what your revolution has come to?” he hissed at Enjolras.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “You would do well to enlighten us.”

“Why, a man should be king in his own home!” Thenardier retorted. “The law allows a husband to administer property. I should know, since I owned that inn---”

“A great deal of good that did,” Eponine muttered in Occitan. “Well that was all the way back in 1820, and it’s 1842 now,” she added in French.

“This is ridiculous! A woman in charge of her property, without a father or husband to guide her? Who has ever heard of that?” Thenardier laughed. “You’ve turned the world upside down!”

“Many a widow has done that before, and many a woman will do that today,” Eponine said, now looking right at him. “I s’pose you’ve forgotten what year it is.”

“What, and you’ll lecture _me_ now about money?’ Thenardier sneered. “You, who married hoping to get out of the streets!”

Courfeyrac coughed. “She was definitely off the streets before her marriage, Citizen. All of us here know and remember that.”

Thenardier shook his head before looking at Enjolras. “See, you allow this hussy to run roughshod over you and now you would have me bend a yoke before my own wife as if I was some servant living on her allowance!”

“If you read the contract carefully, it states in a few pages that you will not immediately become the administrator of her property. It does not forbid you from enriching yourself _legitimately_ ,” Enjolras said, leveling a stern look at Thenardier. “What you bring into the marriage beginning the day after tomorrow is not anyone’s concern but yours and hers alone.”

Thenardier shook his head. “I am not going to hear this from two rogues from the Midi, a half-baked lawyer, a baron without a barony, and an ungrateful hussy who will not put in a good word for her old man.”

Enjolras clenched his fist at these words, even as he saw Bossuet’s eyes widen while Marius and Courfeyrac went livid. Before he could say anything, Eponine was already on her feet. “I don’t need to put in a good word for you; you already did that well enough yourself since you are engaged, aren’t you?” she said. She laughed as Thenardier’s face reddened at her words. “But there’s not going to be a wedding happening without you signing that contract there.”

“By the way, my daughter has already signed it,” Luc-Esprit Gillenormand said, leaning back in his seat. “The hour is late, I must rest to join in tomorrow’s felicity. Will you sign it, and be my son-in-law?” he asked.

Thenardier’s eyes narrowed. “You’d do this to me, an elector and a veteran at Waterloo?”

“We are all citizens in this day and age. Come now,” Luc-Esprit Gillenormand said, gesturing to the pen. “It is 1842 after all.”

‘ _At the rate that Citizen Thenardier repeats that story of Waterloo, he is probably at the point of believing it himself,’_ Enjolras realized even as he watched Thenardier pick up the pen and sign on each page, muttering under his breath all the while. “Thank you for your time, Citizen,” he said once the older man threw the pen down.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Thenardier snapped as he got to his feet. “Good night to you all!” he added before storming out of the room.

Luc-Esprit Gillenormand yawned and stretched in his seat. “Now to dream wonderfully, and wake up to something better than a dream. See you at tomorrow’s festivities!’ he said cheerily before motioning for Marius to help him out of the room.

“We should be going as well; I need to rest,” Courfeyrac said, gesturing to where one could see the outlines of bandages through his suit. “Is it true that neither of you will be at the wedding tomorrow?” he asked Enjolras and Eponine.

Eponine pointed to her midsection. “The bride has made me unwelcome on account of this.”

“While clearly the groom would not desire my presence there,” Enjolras deadpanned. ‘ _It’s that, or there may very well be blood on the altar,’_ he realized even as they all stood to take their leave.


	89. Not Getting Married Today

On most days, Eponine did not mind working on her translations even when in the company of one or more of her children with all their antics. ‘ _Sometimes though, the quiet is nicer,’_ she told herself on the morning of December 8 as she sat down alone at her translating desk after bringing Etienne over to spend the day with the Jolys at the Rue Ferou. Everyone else in her family was either at school or at work. She bit her lip as she got a look at her watch, which showed the time to be just past eight in the morning. “I should be able to get through this horrible passage, then the rest is easy from here,” she whispered as she opened up a pamphlet that had preoccupied her for some days now. She smiled to herself as she felt a strong kick in her belly, prompting her to place a hand on it. “You rest there easy, little one. Maman has a lot of work to do today,” she whispered.

Just as she picked up her pen, she heard some hurried knocking on the door. Before she could swear at this interruption, a quick glance out the study window was enough to have her putting on her shoes and hurrying over to let this unexpected guest in. “Cosette? Weren’t you supposed to be at a wedding today?” she asked her friend worriedly.

Cosette nodded as she smoothed down her blue satin dress, which had gotten rumpled in her haste to reach the Rue Guisarde. “The problem is that the wedding has yet to start. Citizen Thenardier did not appear at the office of the mayor for the civil ceremony!”

“What!”

“Yes, and now Marius’ aunt is upset but she’s insisting on waiting for him at Notre Dame.”

Eponine shook her head with disbelief. “I s’pose you’re here to ask for my help in finding out where he’s gotten to?”

Cosette nodded once more. “Marius told me that you know where he’s been staying. Do you think he’s there?”

The thought of encountering her father once again had Eponine’s gut turning, but one look at Cosette’s pleading face had her standing up straight and taking a deep breath. “He’s at the Rue d’Aligre. I’ll go with you there, since he’s surely going to have something to say if he finds just you asking after him,” she said. ‘ _More likely he’s gotten himself into a bottle after last night, which would put him in the worst mood,’_ she thought as she fetched her green pelisse and traded her light shoes for a heavier pair of boots. By the time she was properly attired, Cosette had already flagged down a fiacre to bring them to this street in the neighbourhood of Chaillot.

Upon their arrival at 13 Rue d’Aligre, the porter immediately showed the two women into this establishment’s grand foyer. Eponine cleared her throat to catch the attention of the bored-looking concierge seated at a desk. “Good morning Citizen,” she greeted. “Has Citizen Thenardier been seen here this morning? He is one of the lodgers upstairs.”

The concierge, a spindly man with wispy graying hair, merely twiddled his tongues. “We don’t have anyone here by that name.”

‘ _Of course he would use a different one to sign himself in,’_ Eponine told herself, glancing momentarily at Cosette. “Maybe he wrote himself in as Thenard, or a Baron de Thenard? He sometimes does that. He’s a thin man with a hooked nose, looks to be almost seventy,” she said to the concierge.

“She means that old dealer Genflot,” a servant called from where he was sweeping the hall. “Though you are too late, Citizenness. He left last night,” he added, eyeing Eponine keenly.

“Last night!” Eponine shook her head. “Just to go out to dinner, I s’pose?”

The concierge produced a worn leatherbound tome, which he proceeded to peruse with the aid of a glass. “He settled his account here and left in a fine carriage with his trunk,” he said after a few moments. “That was before midnight.”

“Did he say where he was going?” Cosette chimed in.

The concierge shrugged. “We haven’t swept up and made up his room yet, maybe you’ll find some clue there. Who might you ladies be?”

Eponine bit her lip to keep from answering even as she went up to the carpeted second floor and the door marked with the number ‘4’. This time she did not need a key to get in, for the door here was unlocked. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of the apartment now stripped bare; all the ramshackle furniture and counterfeits that she and Azelma had seen just weeks ago had now vanished as if into thin air. The only furniture remaining here was a plush couch, a gilt writing desk, and a bed pushed into a heavily curtained alcove. “I’m sure this was the right room; it still smells of his tobacco!” she exclaimed, looking over her shoulder at Cosette. “When we were last here it was full of all sorts of seats and tables to sell!”

Cosette wrinkled her nose as she stepped into the apartment. “How could he have moved them all so quickly?”

“I s’pose he might have been moving them all slowly, or he had them tossed out,” Eponine murmured. “Maybe he did that since he was expecting to move to the Marais.”

“That makes sense, but that still doesn’t help us find him today,” Cosette pointed out as she flicked some dust off her satin gloves. “Doesn’t he have other places to stay?”

“If he did, he wouldn’t let me or the others know about it.”

“What shall we ever tell poor Aunt?”

“That we told her so,” Eponine said flatly.

“Ponine, really!” Cosette shook her head reprovingly. “She was already distraught when I was leaving, so she isn’t going to take well to _that_.”

“The only other way is to say that he vanished into thin air, which he very well may have!” Eponine argued. “If only we knew where that carriage had been headed to.”

Cosette sighed deeply. “We don’t have an answer to that, so all we can say is that he isn’t coming. You’d think he’d write to her at least, tell her where he would be off to, or at least say that he wouldn’t be able to make it.”

“He only writes for money. He didn’t even ask about my mother or send a _postillon_ when he was in La Force and she was in Saint-Lazare, and there were ways to go about that with the help of Patron-Minette,” Eponine pointed out as they now left the room. “Perhaps he’s found something that would better suit him.”

“I can’t tell Aunt that one; that would break her heart,” Cosette said. “You saw how she talks about him. She loves him.”

“Which makes it all the worse.”

“Do you think he loved her at all?”

Eponine shook her head. “I s’pose it was that prenuptial agreement that spooked him. I think he thought that things would be done the old way, with the man in charge of all the money a woman brings into the marriage. I did tell him it was already 1842.”

Cosette grimaced at this. “I heard that it was Grandfather who had the final say that the agreement should be signed. That would make sense since he still would want to protect Aunt.”

‘ _Maybe my father thought he could have them both in hand, and did not expect the old man to say anything,’_ Eponine reflected as they now quit the Rue d’Aligre and made for an omnibus towards the Ile du Palais. Although it was already midmorning, the day was now gray and cloudy with a rising breeze that had Eponine pulling her pelisse more tightly around her while Cosette shut the windows nearest them, much to the relief of their fellow passengers. The two women alighted from the omnibus outside the Palais de Justice, then made their way down a narrow street that opened out to the square fronting the entrance of Notre Dame. Even as they reached the end of this narrow alley, they could already see a crowd gathering in the square. “What, they can’t keep their noses out of the rumpus?” she quipped.

“Eponine---” Cosette began only to be cut off by an indignant shriek from the general direction of the church. “That’s Aunt. I think someone might have told her what we have to say,” she said, cringing. 

“Or she might have figured it out for herself,” Eponine said as they now entered the broad daylight of the square. About two dozen people were gathered around Celestine Gillenormand, who was sitting on the ground in all her wedding finery. Her lace veil was askew, and her voluminous cream-colored dress was wrinkled and soaked with tears in many places. Marius and his grandfather were at her side, trying to coax her to her feet, but to no avail.

Celestine Gillenormand suddenly looked up in Eponine and Cosette’s general direction. “You! This is all your fault!” the spinster screeched, now pointing at Eponine. “If it hadn’t been for that horrid paper you forced Nicolas to sign, he’d be here today!”

“I wasn’t the one who had the final say,” Eponine retorted, crossing her arms. She glanced at Marius and then at Luc-Esprit Gillenormand, whose expressions were of concern mingled with disbelief. “He isn’t coming. His apartment has been cleared out,” she told them.

Luc-Esprit Gillenormand blanched and shook his head. “What, he’s been called away by some old frolic? Did he not leave a note, even a _billet-doux_?”

“We searched the place, Grandfather. He did not leave even a single thing of his,” Cosette replied bravely.

Marius gritted his teeth. “That cad!”

Cosette shook her head. “Not now, love,” she whispered as she went to them. “Maybe he’ll write soon, Aunt. I’m sure it was urgent business,” she added, sitting in front of Celestine Gillenormand and taking her arms.

The older woman shook her off. “How could he do this to me?” she wailed. “After everything we planned and hoped for, only to humiliate me on this day!”

Cosette nodded sadly. “I wish we knew why this happened, but we really need to get out of the street now,” she said more gently.

Celestine Gillenormand took a few shuddering breaths before leaning on Cosette and bursting into sobs. “I didn’t think that he could do _this_ , of all things!”

‘ _Nor did I,’_ Eponine thought, swallowing hard with remorse as she looked away from this scene. She now heard footsteps rushing into the square and looked to see Enjolras and Courfeyrac now approaching, clearly having heard of this scene from whatever onlookers were now spreading the news. “He’s gone. Left. I s’pose none of us thought he would do just that,” she said to them.

Courfeyrac gritted his teeth at this scene. “I did not think he would go this far to distress a lady, especially on his wedding day. I would not have written that contract if I knew it would come to this sort of scene.”

“On the contrary it only made his intentions clear,” Enjolras deadpanned.

“Yes, but she doesn’t want to hear that now!” Eponine hissed to him in Occitan. She looked away now from where Cosette and Marius had succeeded in getting the jilted bride to her feet to bring her to a waiting bridal carriage bedecked with ribbons. “It must be quite the ruckus if you heard of it even from the Palais de Justice,” she whispered.

“It is. This scandal will not die down soon,” Courfeyrac said, also in Occitan. “Did anyone think to check his apartment?”

“Cosette and I did just that,” Eponine said. “It’s as if he was a bubble that vanished in thin air, or rather, into a carriage.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “A carriage?”

“Yes, that is what the concierge said.”

Enjolras’ brow furrowed as he glanced to where the Pontmercys and Gillenormands were leaving, then back at Eponine and Courfeyrac. “If it was a carriage and not simply a hired fiacre, then someone sent for him.”

“Or he had someone send for him,” Eponine pointed out. “The question is, who?”


	90. Tales of the Missing

Even before the crowd could begin to clear out of the square, Enjolras discreetly took Eponine’s hand and then nodded to Courfeyrac. “We’d better discuss this indoors,” he said to them in Occitan. “Has anyone filed a report at the Prefecture?”

Eponine shrugged as she rubbed her back. “I don’t think they’ve thought of doing it yet.”

“Well, we shall beat them to the chase,” Courfeyrac said, managing a brave smile even as his hand went briefly to his still healing side. He looked to the entrance of the square, where he caught sight of Charlesette now rushing up to them. “I thought you’d be resting at home today, my dear,” he greeted her.

“So, did I, but you did promise me a luncheon,” Charlesette said, looping her arm around her husband’s own. She frowned as she looked around the hubbub outside the church. “I missed a dreadful scene, didn’t I?”

“We all did; I cannot think of a scene worse than my father actually marrying Marius’ aunt,” Eponine quipped.

“To be more to the point, the prospective groom has disappeared for parts unknown, without any word to his bride-to-be or any kindred,” Enjolras explained. “We were about to go to the Prefecture to make a report.”

Charlesette frowned at this. “From what Maurice and all the rest have told me, that man does not sound like he _should_ be found.”

“There is something called due diligence, I’m afraid,” Courfeyrac said drolly. “At least if he turns up for an accounting, we will not have fallen short on doing our part to ensure his safety.”

“Yes, but I hate it when you think and talk like a lawyer sometimes.”

“It is not often, and when I do, it is to keep bread on our table.”

Amid all this banter, Enjolras now looked to Eponine, who was rubbing her back again. “Shall I find you a seat?” he asked her worriedly.

“I s’pose I’ll be fine, it’s just that she’s tumbling a little much from all this excitement,” Eponine said, putting a hand on her stomach. “Where would the Prefecture start looking though?”

“That would depend on what intelligence has been gathered on him,” Enjolras pointed out as they and the Courfeyracs began walking towards a bridge in the general direction of the Rue Pontoise. “Would either Azelma or Gavroche know anything of his whereabouts?”

“If they do, now is the time for them to say so. But I s’pose that he wouldn’t dare to seek any help from Zelma if Jehan is around, and we all know that Gavroche wants nothing to do with him unless it is to case him,” Eponine said. She shook her head after a moment. “After having his eyes set on the Gillenormands, he wouldn’t look to anyone less aristocratic,” she added.

“Then he has few places to seek succor from, and even fewer that would admit him.”

“Unless he passes himself off as something higher than a baron?”

The ludicrous image of Thenardier giving his name as a marquise or duke had Enjolras smirking even as he and his companions now reached the Prefecture’s headquarters. In a few minutes they were shown down a hallway to Bahorel’s small office on the premises. “Good morning my friend,” Enjolras said by way of greeting as he entered the room. “I hope this is not a bad time to trouble you with a case of a missing man.”

Bahorel laughed as he shoved aside a report he had been writing. “You, my friends, are my deliverance. Who is this missing man in question?”

“A bridegroom,” Eponine said wearily. “One who you also know as my father.”

The detective’s jaw dropped even as he showed the entire group to some seats. “Wasn’t he supposed to be married today?”

Courfeyrac nodded. “He stood up Citizenness Gillenormand at Notre Dame.”

“He just never showed up at the mayor’s office,” Eponine corrected. “Cosette and I checked at his lodgings at the Rue d’Aligre, but he cleared out last night.”

Bahorel whistled as he brought out a piece of paper. “When was the last time he was seen?”

“Last night. He was at 6 Rue des Filles du Calvaire for the signing of his prenuptial agreement, which we, that is myself as we well as Eponine, Courfeyrac, Bossuet, Pontmercy and Citizen Gillenormand the elder witnessed,” Enjolras said.

“A prenuptial---what?” Bahorel chortled. “That couldn’t have gone over very well.”

“An understatement,” Enjolras deadpanned.

Bahorel shook his head with disbelief as he wrote down these details. “Was he well and sober when you saw him last?”

“Well yes, but as for sober I am not sure,” Eponine replied. “There was some sort of dinner party when we came over.”

“A send-off for the bride perhaps?” Charlesette suggested in a small voice.

“There is no ascertaining that fact, sadly,” Bahorel said. He looked up as the office door opened once again. “Therese, you have come in time to succor my stomach!”

“Because you are bearish when you are hungry,” Therese Bahorel retorted as she entered the office and set down a large basket on her husband’s desk. “It’s nice to see you all, but here?”

“We’re merely succoring a poor spinster,” Courfeyrac said.

“A spinster?” Therese asked curiously. “I didn’t know we know any.”

“Well, we do, and that’s Marius Pontmercy’s aunt,” Eponine said. “She was stood up at her wedding today.”

“Marius’ aunt---oh!” Therese’s eyes widened with realization. “That was supposed to be today? No wonder there was such a stir at Notre Dame!”

‘ _Which will now become this week’s scandal,’_ Enjolras thought, trying to keep a straight face. “The groom in question seems to have vanished---” he began only to see Charlesette clap a hand over her mouth. “Is everything well?”

“I need a privy,” Charlesette said before getting up and dashing out of the room, with Courfeyrac following at her heels.

Therese clucked her tongue as she closed the door behind this pair. “Poor dear. How far along is she?” she asked Eponine confidentially.

“Not very far, but I s’pose you should ask her if she’s ready to talk about it,” Eponine said. She winced at the sound of loud retching from further down the hallway. “I wish I’d brought something to settle her stomach.”

Therese winced sympathetically. “I know just the thing and there’s some of it around here.” She tapped the back of Bahorel’s head with her knuckles. “I’ll mix up a dose for poor Charlesette in the pantry. Will any of you want anything?” she asked him.

“I’m fine. We’ll have lunch soon anyway,” Enjolras replied.

“A little wine, you know which one,” Bahorel said with a grin.

Eponine squeezed Enjolras’ arm. “I’ll join Therese for a little bit; there’s a thing or two we need to speak about,” she whispered in his ear.

“Well, I’d hate to be in your way,” Enjolras quipped as he clasped her hand momentarily. As soon as the women left, he sighed as he looked at Bahorel. “You might find this situation rather peculiar,” he said to his friend.

“Yes, as there is no love to lose when it comes to your father-in-law,” Bahorel said, fetching a cigar. “Is this out of duty?”

“To some extent, but there is also a suspicion that I would like addressed,” Enjolras began, lacing his fingers together. “The prenuptial agreement was drawn up and signed by both parties last night was designed to protect Citizenness Gillenormand’s assets, but also to serve as a test as well as a deterrent of sorts.”

“Because you assumed that he would refuse to sign the contract, then would clear out,” Bahorel said sagely.

“That was one possible outcome. The other was for him to be bound by this agreement, unlikely as it would have been.”

“You did not expect that he would resort to leaving his bride at the altar?”

Enjolras shook his head. “Citizen Thenardier is used to making scenes, but with a propensity for playing the victim. This is uncharacteristic.”

“That it is,” Bahorel agreed. “I will ask Eponine when she returns if she was able to find out from the concierge anything about where Citizen Thenardier might have gone. Would you though have any clue?”

“Nowhere. Since many of his former associates are dead or are in prison, it would be unlikely he is going directly to them, but I would not rule out his being referred to someone,” Enjolras said. “Eponine has suggested that he would look in other places such as the aristocracy.”

“Friends of his former fiancée,” Bahorel concurred. “It would be unlikely however that any of them would take him in after such a public break, unless the Gillenormands have enemies?”

‘ _As obnoxious as they are, there are none I can think of,’_ Enjolras realized. “Then he has some other scheme afoot with another accomplice that would shelter him at a moment’s notice.”

Bahorel nodded pensively. “I will try to find what I can, but I think that you or rather, Pontmercy is in a better position to tease out such leads,” he said. “For certain she will run to her familiar circles for comfort, and they may be more than ready to speak up.”

‘ _Which may mean running into Theodule Gillenormand again,’_ Enjolras realized with some distaste. “Nevertheless the report will be filed?”

“As a matter of course,” Bahorel said. “But considering all of this, I doubt he actually wants to be found." 


	91. Of Onions

Even with all of Enjolras’ exercise of due diligence, Eponine knew better than to expect to hear any word of Thenardier’s whereabouts in the coming days. “I would not be surprised if he kept his head low all the way till the next year,” she said to her husband two days later as they were catching up on some reading in their study room. Both of them were seated on opposite ends of the chaise, which was surrounded by various tracts and periodicals.

“Which is in three weeks,” Enjolras deadpanned, looking up from perusing a rather thick folio. “All the same, it is more than enough time to do significant damage.”

‘ _The question is, where?’_ Eponine wondered silently, lifting her feet to put them in Enjolras’ lap. The thought of Thenardier bandying around gossip in some drawing room had her frowning, prompting Enjolras to squeeze her ankle lightly. The familiar feel of his callused fingers on her skin was enough to bring a smile to her face, more so when she reached down to clasp his hand and slip her fingers between his. “By the way, have you decided on a name yet?” she asked, placing her free hand on the swell of her stomach.

“I did say once that I prefer that we name the child ‘Sabine’ if it comes out as a girl, but if it doesn’t suit her, then perhaps we can consider ‘Gabrielle’ or ‘Marcelle’,” Enjolras replied.

“And why wouldn’t the name ‘Sabine’ be suitable?” Eponine laughed. “I like it very much, more than naming our daughter after a saint at any rate.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras concurred, setting aside the folio he had been reading so he could take her other hand in his. “What then if we have another son?”

“We can try the name ‘Alexandre’ or even something like ‘Gabriel-Marcelin’.”

“The latter sounds too long to be used for every day and will lend itself to a nickname at some point or another.”

“Which isn’t always a good thing, I s’pose,” Eponine said with a grimace. “I swear that Cosette had a lisp growing up, which was why she began calling me ‘Ponine’ in the first place!”

“I am certain it was not only Cosette, since Azelma also calls you the same thing even to this very day,” Enjolras pointed out dryly even as a knock sounded on the front door. “Were we expecting any visitors?” he asked, getting to his feet.

“No, but it might be the mail,” Eponine observed, now seeing Jacques saunter into the room, carrying an envelope with him. “Who left that at the door?” she asked the boy.

“Someone from the Prefecture,” Jacques said stiffly as he set the letter down. “Looks like it’s something official.”

‘ _But the words ‘official’ and ‘Gavroche’ do not belong in the same sentence,’_ Eponine mused silently, seeing now the familiar penmanship on the missive. “Thank you for bringing it in, Jacques. What have you been doing today?”

Jacques sighed dramatically. “I would go out if I had a reason to.”

“There is nothing wrong with staying in, especially when there are other pursuits at hand,” Enjolras deadpanned. He gestured to an Italian phrasebook on the table. “It would be wise for both of us to begin reviewing this, and other resources.”

“Why, another ambassador in trouble?” Jacques asked, picking up the phrasebook. “Or this has to do with Citizen Riva?”

“The latter, but that is all I can say to it at this point in time,” Enjolras said firmly. He waited for Jacques to shut the door behind him before sitting back down. “As useful as this diversion will be, I hope it will not be necessary,” he remarked.

“I don’t think you can avoid it, Antoine,” Eponine pointed out. “The moment that Riva finds that Garibaldi fellow, there will be quite a ruckus with getting them both out of France.”

“So it would seem.” Enjolras said pensively. “What’s in that letter from Gavroche?”

“It doesn’t seem like a long one,” Eponine noted as she carefully worked the envelope open. She tipped out onto her lap a single sheet of paper with these words in Gavroche’s scribbly writing:

“ _I love an onion fried in oil,_

_I love an onion, it's so tasty_

_I love an onion fried in oil,_

_I love an onion, I love an onion_

_In step, comrades, in step, comrades,_

_In step, in step, in step_

_In step, comrades, in step, comrades,_

_In step, in step, in step_

_Just one onion fried in oil,_

_Just one onion turns us into lions_

_Just one onion fried in oil,_

_Just one onion, just one onion….”_

_…do you remember what the next line is, Ponine?”_

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at this missive. “That is merely a marching song.”

“There’s more to it. Some of the visitors to my parents’ inn knew this one very well,” Eponine said. Once more she saw before her eyes the glow of the hearth at Montfermeil, shadowed here and there by the forms of people passing under the eaves hung with pots, pans, and rope. “It’s a merry one,” she whispered.

“Why would Gavroche send this one to you?” Enjolras wondered. “How does the rest of the song go?”

“I s’pose I’ll try to remember it.” Eponine closed her eyes and cleared her throat as she tried to bring the words out from the deeper recesses of her memories. After humming the first few verse, she could see before her again the inn, and hear once again these words: “ _But no onions for the Austrians. No, no onions for those dogs. No onions for the Austrians. No onions, no onions…”_

“No onions for the Austrians…” Enjolras repeated. For a moment he was silent even as a grim look spread over his face. “It is a warning.”

‘ _Because they’ve been here for a while,’_ she realized as she folded up the missive and tossed it into the wood stove. “I s’pose we shouldn’t go to the Prefecture to ask about it?”

“They are likely still investigating the matter,” he replied. “Nevertheless, we should take some more precautions, especially with our work with the diplomats and the Home Office.”

“Such as the primer?”

“As well as any translations that come your way. With Citizen Lamarre overwhelmed and Citizen Sardou still a long way from recovering, this would now be an opportune time for a provocation or worse.”

“Especially with an Italian in Paris…” Eponine trailed off. She shuddered as for a moment the memory busy streets of Rome and the Papal Carabineri bringing her and Enjolras to the Papal residence in that city suddenly flashed before her eyes. “Do you s’pose we should warn Citizen Riva?” she asked.

“That we should,” Enjolras said, now standing up to go to his desk. “Going to his lodgings would be too obvious, so a missive would have to do.”

“But it would have to be in code,” Eponine said. “Just to be sure of it.”

“Of course.”

“What sort of code would it be?”

Enjolras was silent for a moment. “Now would be a good time to write down any one of my mother’s recipes,” he said thoughtfully, bringing out a clean sheet of note paper. “Preferably one involving onions.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The Onion Song" was said to have originated with Napoleon's army as a marching song.


	92. Words Set Aflame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: grievous injury

Within an hour, Enjolras had posted a missive containing a recipe for onion soup, that he sent via courier to Riva’s lodgings near the Quai de la Tournelle. “With that done, now it is back to reading the rest of the cases for the day,” he told Eponine when he returned to their study a few minutes later.

Eponine laughed and shook her head as she looked up from the book she was studying. “You know what happens when you say that sort of thing, Antoine?”

“The exact opposite happens?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow. It was all he could do not to sigh when he heard another knock on their front door. “Now who might that be?”

“Papa, that funny man Lamarre is looking for you!” Laure called from the hallway.

“Laure, that is not how we greet people!” Enjolras reprimanded, even as he noticed Eponine hiding her mortified face behind her hands. He went out to where Lamarre stood by the front door, holding what appeared to be a manuscript. “Good morning, Lamarre. This is a surprise,” he greeted.

“This one shouldn’t be,” Lamarre said amiably, holding out the volume. “Here is the final proof of the primer; I need you to sign off on it as editor, then we can be off to the Place Saint-Andre to print it straightaway.”

Enjolras carefully took the book and opened it to its first few pages before motioning for Lamarre to follow him to the living room. He set down the primer to begin perusing its chapters, if only to be sure that each contributor had his section included in its proper place. Of all the chapters, Feuilly’s was the thickest, with an extensive discussion on the differences between French democracy and the various governments that the Vienna system upheld. “This will be discussed extensively in our counterpart consulates,” he observed.

“This one? The Russians will not be happy about it,” Lamarre said. “Especially with all the references to the partition of Poland.”

“It would be anathema to remain silent on that,” Enjolras pointed out. ‘ _Then of course there is this new inclusion,’_ he thought, keeping a straight face as he found some pages that Lamarre had authored regarding the implications of marriage on immigration and subsequent residency. “How many copies will be printed?” he asked as he finished browsing through the book.

“Sixty, on the first run,” Lamarre replied. “Only to distribute to the different embassies and consulates, as well as to have some copies reserved here at the Home Office.”

“I see,” Enjolras said. “Where do I sign?”

“Right here,” Lamarre said, pointing to a piece of paper that had been inserted into the proof, and had been signed by the other contributors. “We’ll need a pen though.”

“And here is one,” Eponine said, going to Enjolras’ side just to set down a pen and inkwell in front of him. Her eyes widened appreciatively as she caught sight of the proof. “That one is going to look lovely once it is bound. Will you be using leather or vellum?”

“Is there a difference?” Lamarre asked.

“Very much so. Both aren’t easy to work with, but the colors of leather bindings are much better,” Eponine replied.

“As long as it holds up well for travel or sending to other climes, it will suffice,” Enjolras said, picking up the pen to sign the proof. He then set the pen down and nodded to Eponine. “We should show Citizen Lamarre what we got this morning,” he said to her.

“Oh that.” Eponine quickly left the room and returned a few moments later with the note from Gavroche. “You should know that my brother has a habit of warning people with songs, and we don’t just mean by singing _Ca Ira,_ ” she explained as she handed the missive to the diplomat.

Lamarre’s eyebrows shot up as he read the note. “The Onion Song?”

“Missing the part about the Austrians, which was what the detective knew we would figure out,” Enjolras said.

“Sounds like a prank, but then again Citizen Thenardier the younger is a detective,” Lamarre scoffed. “Was that all he said?”

Eponine nodded. “With everything that everyone says about the Prussians, shouldn’t we worry about the Austrians too especially after what happened last summer?”

Lamarre sighed deeply. “That _Risorgimento_.”

“We sent a warning to Citizen Riva before you arrived; it only stands to reason that he’d be watched by whatever agents are here from Vienna,” Enjolras said. 

“This is too much of a dangerous business; once that Riva finds his friend Garibaldi, they’re on the next train to the Italian border,” Lamarre groused. “Did Detective Thenardier furnish any concrete proofs of the matter?”

“Well do you intend to file any diplomatic action?” Enjolras asked.

“I will need more proofs,” Lamarre said. “We should have just cleared out of Venice once that Mazzini was on the scene!”

‘ _It’s too late for that regret,’_ Enjolras thought, looking to Eponine again. “Would you like to join us at the Place Saint-Andre to have this proof handed to the printer?” he asked her.

Eponine paused and bit her lip. “I’d love to, but someone’s got to get lunch up for everyone else around here,” she said.

Enjolras checked his watch and found the time to be nearly ten in the morning. “Very well then, is there anything I can get for you or the children?”

“I s’pose some bread. We never seem to have enough of it,” Eponine replied. “Which particular printer will you be headed to?” 

“Citizen Gallois’ shop. We have a contract with him,” Lamarre replied.

“Ah that’s the one next to where Capital R works,” Eponine said. “If you see him, send him my regards.”

“Very well then. It will not be long though,” Enjolras said, kissing her forehead to reassure her further. “Are you sure of this?”

Eponine nodded and laughed as she took his hand. “I’ll be fine, Antoine. It’s not like a few weeks ago when you had to worry about me so often!”

“I’ll see you later then,” Enjolras said, running a finger over her crooked fingers for a moment. After grabbing his coat and putting on his shoes, he headed out with Lamarre to find the omnibus to the Place Saint-Andre.

At this noontime hour, the omnibus was packed such that Enjolras and Lamarre both had to remain standing up. Just as the vehicle reached a crossroads, a muffled roar suddenly filled the air. “What on earth was that?” Lamarre asked, looking around confusedly.

“Nothing good,” Enjolras said even as he saw people screaming and running away from the general direction of the Place Saint-Andre. He alighted from the omnibus and ran quickly towards the square, where he could now see the large carts of the Parisian fire brigade beginning to gather. The smells of mud and burning wood now hung in the air, mingled with the reek of charred human flesh. Enjolras took a shallow breath through his mouth as he arrived at the entrance to the Place Saint-Andre, which was littered with broken wood and masonry. Some members of the fire brigade were trying to put out flames leaping out from what had been the shop front of Gallois’ printing press, while others were extricating civilians from beneath the ruins of a collapsed building. ‘ _The very one where Grantaire is working,’_ he realized, now rushing to the scene.

A firefighter came up to halt him with a gesture. “Citizen Enjolras, you should not be here.”

Enjolras looked around this scene of devastation. “What caused this?”

“Some sort of blast,” the firefighter said, pointing to the curb. “You need to stay away from our rescue effort.”

“Has Citizen Grantaire been seen on this scene?” Enjolras asked. “He is a correspondent for the _Annonceur_.”

The firefighter looked around and shook his head. “We’re still trying to rescue people. I’ll let you know if he’s found.”

Enjolras nodded before going to the ruins of the broadsheet’s office. It seemed to him that the fire and soot had radiated from a single point, not far from where he was standing. ‘ _As if someone had left a box on the street again,’_ he thought, now joining in the group pulling survivors from the wreckage. “Grantaire! If you’re here, say something!” he shouted into the din.

An unintelligible groan came from under some fallen timbers. “We need a jack to raise that one! Someone get it from the firemen!” a workingman bellowed.

Enjolras shook his head as he saw the timbers begin to shake, prompting him to go over to keep them from collapsing onto Grantaire, who was lying stunned underneath this wreck. The journalist’s face was bloodied and his outstretched hand was red up to the elbow and bent at a sickening angle. “Easy now. We’ll get you out,” Enjolras said in a level tone.

Grantaire struggled to open his eyes. “Apollo? What are you doing there?”

‘ _Clearly he has taken a blow to the head,’_ Enjolras decided, pushing against the timbers that swayed and creaked. He could feel his arms beginning to ache with the effort, and it was all he could do to keep his shoes from slipping in the mud and spilled ink from an exploded press. After a seemingly interminable number of seconds, he finally saw someone bring over a jack, while others brought some rope and crowbars to help lift the wreckage off. Enjolras helped tie some of the rope to the overhanging timbers before he crouched down to help slide Grantaire out from what little space could be created from the jack and the ropes. Grantaire groaned and cried out, only to take a deep breath of relief once he was safely away from the timbers. “Rest easy now. I’ll make sure that someone informs Nicholine of your whereabouts,” he said to the wounded man.

Grantaire gasped. “That news would kill her with fright. Say I’ve gone flying---”

“No talk of that,” Enjolras said firmly. He looked up to see Lamarre now running up to this scene, looking terrified. ‘What news?”

“The police are on their way.” Lamarre started on seeing Grantaire on the ground. “What happened---”

“An event that takes precedence over this,” Enjolras said, gesturing to the primer proof that Lamarre carried. “Please send a messenger over to the atelier at the Rue Ferou, for Citizenness Nicholine Grantaire. We need her to know of this." 


	93. A Pair of Hands for Two Souls

Almost as soon as Enjolras and Lamarre were out the door, Eponine set aside her reading and went to the kitchen. “I s’pose we’ll have to do something about all this cold meat,” she told herself as she checked a pot of leftover chicken from yesterday’s dinner, and then another container of potted pork. Just as she had finished rinsing the pork to throw it into the same pot with the chicken, she heard the front door open and shut. “Back so soon?” she called over her shoulder.

“It’s just Ariadne, and Sophie is with her,” Laure called. “Can they please come to stay for the day, Maman?”

“I s’pose if they’re here already, there’s nothing much else to do about it,” Eponine said, wiping her hands before going into the living room where Neville was helping Ariadne take off her coat, while Julien was coaxing Sophie to join him and Etienne in a game. Laure was off to one side, trying to cheer up a sullen looking Jacques. “It’s nice finding you at liberty on a Saturday,” Eponine said, addressing Ariadne first.

“It’s not exactly at liberty, and it’s complicated to explain,” Ariadne said sheepishly as she doffed her hat. “Citizen Feuilly had a whole day of meetings, so he asked me to take charge of Sophie. Mrs. Calamy and the Admiral are also calling all day at the Home Office about something, so Mrs. Calamy said I’d be better off either staying home with the doors locked or going over someplace safe. Something’s about to happen, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Eponine replied, biting her lip even as the recollection of Gavroche’s letter came to mind. “Well, there’s more space to run about here, and you’re just in time since I was about to prepare some lunch,” she said more easily to the girl.

“Oh, I brought something,” Ariadne said brightly, indicating a large basket she had with her. “Mrs. Calamy and I spent some of yesterday making pies. There are sweet ones and savory ones.”

“That’s one thing I like about England; the London pubs have good selections in the way of these. Thank you for bringing some over,” Eponine said with a smile. The aromas of spices mixed with meat mingled pleasantly with those of berry preserves, and it was all she could do not to take a piece while she carried the basket to the table. ‘ _If the Calamys are meeting with the Home Office, that means they know something about either the Prussians or Austrians,’_ she decided silently.

Neville hopped uneasily on his good foot. “Ponine, may Ariadne and I go to the Luxembourg today to catch a show?” he asked.

“I’m not so sure that would be a good idea, just for today. There’s a reason that Mrs. Calamy said what she said,” Eponine pointed out even as she heard a peal of laughter from where Sophie was still playing with the younger boys. “Besides, Sophie is having too much fun.”

“Only because it’s Julien. She’s the only one who doesn’t scare him,” Neville remarked, glancing towards his adoptive brother who was putting a paper crown on Sophie’s hair. “If we have to stay in all day, what do we do about Jacques?”

“Leave him to himself, as always. At least he isn’t stomping and raging about anymore,” Eponine said. “Maybe he’ll be back to himself before Christmas.”

“I hope, since I don’t want to explain that to our grandparents,” Neville said dryly.

The mention of Louis and Monique had Eponine sighing deeply. ‘ _Surely those two will ask,’_ she thought even as she watched Neville retreat to the living room. She then went to the kitchen to continue preparing their meal by cooking half of a chopped onion in very little butter, then adding this to the pot of meat. “I s’pose I’ll have to make some soup to make it go further unless Antoine comes back early with the bread.” she decided aloud, seeing now that they only had half a loaf of bread leftover from their breakfast.

Just as she was preparing the other half of the onion for soup, she heard what sounded like a commotion in the general direction of the front door. “Maman come quick! Aunt Chetta and Aunt Nicholine are here!” Laure shouted breathlessly. “Something bad has happened!”

‘ _Something at the atelier?’_ Eponine thought worriedly as she wiped her hands on her skirt and ran to the front hall. She stopped a gasp of shock on seeing Musichetta there, doing her best to prop up Nicholine, who was weeping inconsolably and almost insensible. “Did someone die?” she asked worriedly.

“No, and that’s what I keep trying to tell her,” Musichetta said through gritted teeth as she adjusted her hold on Nicholine. “We really should be going, but Nicholine is no good in this state,” she added tersely.

“One of you go to watch the pot in the kitchen, please,” Eponine said to the youngsters who’d gathered at this scene. Much to her relief, Jacques and Laure went to the kitchen, while Neville and Ariadne went to help her and Musichetta bring Nicholine to the couch in the living room. “Chetta, what happened?” Eponine asked again as soon as they’d set Nicholine down and put her feet up on a stool.

“A messenger came to the Rue Ferou and said that there had been an explosion at the Place Saint-Andre,” Musichetta said, quickly removing Nicholine’s shawl and then getting to work on the taller woman’s boots. “Your husband helped dig Grantaire out from under the wreckage,” she added more quietly.

The image of the Place Saint-Andre in flames and shambles had Eponine biting her lip even as she sat down. “How are they?” she asked.

“Grantaire isn’t in a good way. Joly was called up to tend to him, and they should be at the Hotel-Dieu hospital. Combeferre is probably also on the way too.” Musichetta said in an undertone. She chafed Nicholine’s wrist and shook her head. “Nicholine has to be there, but I can’t bring her to the hospital in this state.”

Nicholine stirred and shook her head at the mention of her name. “This can’t be happening. What am I going to do without Laurent?” she wailed.

“He’s not dead!” Musichetta hissed. “You have to stop talking like he is!”

“Who even survives a blast like that?” Nicholine choked. “The messenger said that Laurent was unconscious and that his hand is broken---”

The mention of Grantaire’s broken hand had Eponine wincing and then glancing down at her own twisted left hand. “It could mend somewhat,” she whispered, shifting to allow Sophie and Laure to bring a glass of water and a clean handkerchief to Nicholine. “He’s strong and he’ll be able to manage it,” Eponine added.

Nicholine gulped down some water before blowing her nose loudly. “What am I going to tell the children?” she asked.

“Tell them that their father will fight for them,” Musichetta said. She sighed as she looked at Eponine knowingly. “We have to believe it will be so.”

‘ _Even if sometimes the reality isn’t,’_ Eponine thought, now getting to her feet. “You are in charge for today,” she said to Neville. She dug into her pocket for a few sous, which she handed to the young man. “Just take the meat off the stove in about fifteen minutes, and you can use this money for more bread.”

Neville nodded seriously. “Now I see why Mrs. Calamy suggested saying inside,” he said to his sister in Occitan.

“It might be something different,” Eponine replied before she went to fetch her pelisse and a hat. When she returned to the living room, she saw Laure watching her worriedly. “Your Papa and I will be back soon, _petite_. Just stay good and quiet here with your brothers. You need to take care of each other, even Ariadne and Sophie too.”

Laure nodded slowly. “Why do people want to hurt you, Papa, and even our uncles?”

“I’ll make sure I’m around to tell you why, when you’re older,” Eponine said, smoothing down Laure’s dress. As she went to say goodbye to her brothers and her sons, she saw Musichetta managing to get Nicholine to her feet. ‘ _Why does it seem like this is much worse than the blast outside the Palais de Justice?’_ she wondered silently as she and her friends headed out to find a way to get to the hospital on the Ile du Palais. Fortunately, they were able to find a fiacre that would allow them to bypass the now blocked roads near the area of the Place Saint-Andre, and take another route by the way of the Pont au Double.

When the women arrived at the Hotel-Dieu, they found themselves in the middle of a frantic crowd at the hospital’s tiny courtyard. “Were all the wounded brought here?” Eponine asked Musichetta as they tried to lead Nicholine through this crush.

Musichetta shrugged. “Maybe some are at the Hopital de la Charite or even at the Val de Grace. But this is the easiest to reach.”

Nicholine suddenly doffed her bonnet to begin waving it in the air. “I’m looking for Laurent Grantaire! I was told he was here!” she shouted to a guard.

“You’ll just have to wait for news of the wounded, Citizenness,” the guard shouted. “Move back with the rest of them!”

“She’s his wife! She has to be the one in there with him!” Eponine called, now coming forward. “You can tell his doctors or his companions that she’s arrived.”

The guard gave her a bewildered look before conferring with one of his fellows, who went inside the hospital’s front doors only to emerge a few moments later. “You’ll have to wait in line with the other families there,” the guard said, pointing to a long queue forming by the gate.

Musichetta cursed under her breath. “None of us should be standing so long, especially you!” she said to Eponine.

“I s’pose we need another way inside, or I can go on home once we get at least Nicholine in,” Eponine whispered. It was at that moment however that she caught sight of a tall golden-haired figure conferring with some of the guards. “Antoine! We’re here!” she shouted over the din, standing on tiptoe to make herself heard.

Enjolras turned at the sound of his given name, and his eyes widened when he saw Eponine. His cravat was unraveled and his sleeves were rolled up, while the rest of his attire and even his hair were covered in grime and dust. “I’ll go out, but let Citizenness Grantaire through,” he said to the guard, who then let him pass beyond the gate. “Your coming is very timely. There are some matters that Combeferre and Joly need to speak with you about, concerning your husband,” he said to Nicholine.

Nicholine’s face crumpled. “It’s that bad, isn’t it? Please tell me!”

“Again, you need to be inside,” Enjolras said to her more firmly. “For the moment they’re only allowing one companion at a time for each patient,” he explained to Eponine and Musichetta in an undertone.

“There must be that many wounded then,” Eponine murmured. She grasped Nicholine’s arm and squeezed it in an attempt to reassure her. “We’ll be out here and waiting,” she said.

“You’ve brought me this far. Thank you, both of you,” Nicholine said in a small voice as she tied her bonnet more tightly around her head. She took a deep breath before stepping towards the gates, where the guards ushered her in before slamming the iron grilles behind her.

Eponine swallowed hard as she reached for Enjolras’ hand, only to feel his fingers curl around hers. “How terrible is it, Antoine?” she asked.

“Thirty dead: ten on the spot, and twenty just here. It’s probably going to rise,” Enjolras said grimly. “There are still about twelve missing, or being dug out from the rubble. The headquarters of the _Annonceur_ have been totally destroyed.”

‘ _As well as any presses nearby,’_ Eponine realized. “And what about Grantaire?” she asked.

Enjolras took a sucking breath between gritted teeth. “He’ll live. Most of him at least.”

Musichetta blanched at these words. “What do you mean by ‘most of him’?”

“His right hand was broken in several places when we dug him out,” Enjolras said, now retying his cravat. “Combeferre and Joly have to decide if they will amputate it, today.”


	94. A Game Bigger Than All of Us

_“Wouldn’t it be such a shame that instead of the Pearly Gates, I was met by Cerberus and Charon instead?”_

_“You’ll live. There’s no need to talk about that.”_

_Grantaire winced from being jolted as his stretcher was carried over the hospital stairs. “It won’t be Paradise without you entering it though.”_

“Antoine? Are you well?”

Enjolras blinked away the smoke and fire that had suddenly clouded his vision, only to find Eponine looking at him keenly. “I’m fine. We need to get back home,” he said, clasping her hand absent-mindedly as they walked down the street to catch the omnibus on the Rue Saint Jacques, after they had parted ways with Musichetta and Nicholine.

Eponine sighed deeply and looped her arm more tightly around her husband’s. “I don’t know how you’d be fine after seeing all that,” she said. She bit her lip when Enjolras merely looked ahead at where they were walking. “Please, talk to me. I know how you are when you don’t want to talk about things,” she whispered, now stepping in front of him to clasp his hands.

“What exactly do you want me to tell you?” he asked tersely. He shut his eyes briefly if only to banish the glare of midday, only to feel Eponine’s callused hand reaching up to touch his cheek. “It’s not something that anyone should have seen,” he said at length when he opened his eyes to meet her worried ones.

Eponine nodded slowly. “I s’pose we’ll find a place to sit down for a little bit. It’s good to be outside from time to time,” she said as she waved to an approaching omnibus. They managed to squeeze aboard the crowded omnibus and find two seats near the door. “I think the news has gotten around already,” she whispered to him as they settled in.

‘ _The fear is too evident in their eyes,’_ Enjolras realized, prompting him to dust off his coat and adjust his collar to hide the dirt and bloodstains on his clothes. Even as he did so, he could see some of their fellow passengers giving him and Eponine wary and anxious glances or looking out the omnibus windows as if watching for some impending catastrophe. As the omnibus passed by the Place du Pantheon, he stood up to alight, but Eponine took his hand and shook her head. “This is our stop to walk home,” he reminded her.

“I know, but we can take a longer way back through the Luxembourg gardens,” Eponine suggested. “It’s not as if _you_ would have wanted to stay indoors all day even without this mess.”

“Touche,” Enjolras said dryly, but he did not sit back down once again. He helped Eponine to her feet as the omnibus made the turn a few more streets down into the Rue Saint-Dominique. Here, the noontime heat did not deter people from taking in the air or gossiping in the shade of the trees lining the promenades. The couple found a seat overlooking a large fountain with a grotto and a statue of Venus in a bath. For some time, neither of them said a word, but only looked out onto the relatively quiet gardens. At length Enjolras glanced at Eponine, who had her eyes closed as she reveled in the warmth of the midday hour. He touched her arm, prompting her to look at him. “How did you find out?”

“Chetta brought Nicholine over. Nicholine was in quite a state, as I s’pose you’ve already guessed,” she said. She bit her lip and shook her head. “She was sure that R was as good as lost. It’s worse than what you’re telling me, isn’t it?”

Enjolras took a deep breath even as once again he saw the ruined Place Saint-Andre before his waking eyes. “He was nearly crushed under the ruin of his own workplace. I believe he might have taken a blow on the head.”

“But he was awake when you got him out?”

“Just barely.”

Eponine shuddered. “And what about his hand? Was it broken that badly?”

“In several places,” Enjolras said, feeling his stomach turn at the memory of Grantaire’s shattered fingers. “Nevertheless, there may be a chance yet.”

“I hope so, for his sake,” Eponine murmured, glancing down at her own gloved hands. “I didn’t see Lamarre at the hospital. Where did he go?”

“To find another person to print that primer.”

“I s’pose he might have to find one outside Paris, you know how people talk.”

“Indeed,” Enjolras concurred, reaching for Eponine’s hand. He managed a wry smile when Eponine brought their hands to the swell of her stomach, just so he could feel their youngest child moving within. “At least this one is safe.”

“We do our best,” Eponine said. She dusted some specks off his coat and squeezed his fingers. “Let’s go by a patisserie to get some dessert for the young ones. I left Neville and Ariadne in charge of the kitchen since I already had something to boil when I left.”

‘ _This is getting to be a regular occurrence,’_ Enjolras realized. “It would appear that we will have to invite Ariadne then to join us for the _Gros Souper_ this year?”

“Her and the Calamys too. It’s the least that I could do after they put us up in Piccadilly,” Eponine said. “I do intend to show them how we do things here in Paris for Christmas.”

‘ _At the very least it will be a diversion from what is going on here,’_ Enjolras decided. Just as they got to their feet, he caught sight of a balled-up piece of paper that had somehow landed near his shoe. “Don’t look down,” he said to Eponine in Occitan as he bent to get the paper, all the while keeping an eye out for anyone else watching them in the park. He silently pocketed the note and clasped Eponine’s hand to walk with her out of the Luxembourg Gardens. For a moment he glanced at her only to see her surprised expression suddenly turn worried and grim before she pulled more urgently on his hand and quickened her pace to match his. Neither of them said a word till they were out on the other side of the park and had crossed the Rue Vaugirard towards the Rue Ferou and the Place Saint-Sulpice.

Once they were in sight of the church, Eponine bit her lip and looked around again. “Let’s take a roundabout into the Marche Saint-Germain. I’m pretty sure we were being followed.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No, but I’m sure that _postillion_ you picked up was not left there by accident.”

Enjolras pulled out the note and unfolded it carefully to find these lines written in a spidery hand: ‘ _Dear Monsieur Enjolras. Clearly you have not heeded our warnings to not have the primer printed, and now your friend has paid the price. Unless you want more blood to be shed, you will pull the primer’s publication entirely. We trust you are a reasonable man and will consider this request with utmost gravity. Your humble servant – Monsieur Gaspard’._


	95. Collateral Damage Anew

Despite the harrowing events at the Place Saint-Andre, Eponine was not about to give up on her Sunday habit of accompanying the youngsters to hear Mass at Saint-Sulpice. “It’s just to help them from worrying about what’s been happening,” she explained to Enjolras that morning in their room as she was quickly dressing for church. “After all this mess with the printer and the note is our problem, not theirs.”

Enjolras merely raised an eyebrow as he looked up from the case notes he had been writing. “Have they begun to ask?”

“Of course they would, what with the father of some of their friends being hurt so badly. Besides I think they’ve gotten a habit of listening in at the door.”

“If that is the case, then I shall accompany you all then.”

Eponine nearly dropped the shawl she had been tying around her shoulders. “Even with all the things you are doing?” she asked, gesturing to the notes on their bedside table.

“I would rather that you are all safe,” Enjolras insisted, now getting to his feet and going to find his coat and his shoes. “It will only be about an hour.”

“Maybe two, depending on the sermon,” Eponine quipped, earning her a knowing smirk from her husband. “I s’pose that if priests could give sermons the way you give speeches, no one would dare to fall asleep.”

“I believe it is more of the subject matter than the delivery that proves tiresome,” Enjolras deadpanned as he finished buttoning up his coat. “One cannot, or perhaps should not, preach of angels and spirits to weary and hungry bodies.”

“I see what you mean; I never could get through a Mass with my stomach growling so all those years ago,” Eponine said as they now left their room. Downstairs in the living room, Neville and Jacques were discussing something rather heatedly, Julien was pestering Laure while the latter was dusting off her riding habit, while Etienne had taken to picking his nose. It was all that Eponine could do not to sigh deeply at this scene even as the older children made a show of straightening out their clothes and hair. “Come on now, we’ve got to be at the church before the bells ring again, or we’ll have to stand up all through the Mass,” she warned as she grabbed a pocket handkerchief to clean up Etienne’s fingers.

“If we are late for this Mass, can’t we just stay for the next then leave right when it repeats itself?” Jacques asked.

“That is not the way it works, and you’ll surely end up missing lunch if you do that,” Enjolras replied sternly as he took his hat from where it hung on a peg near the front door.

Eponine bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud at her brother’s crestfallen look. ‘ _If he is asking such things, then that’s good,’_ she decided silently as she checked over the younger children one more time before they headed out the door. As their family walked down the Rue Guisarde, she saw that Neville was walking with his hands in his pockets, his brow scrunched in a look she knew all too well. “What’s gotten into you now?” she asked in an undertone, falling into step with him.

“I was just wondering about something,” Neville said, blushing slightly. “Ariadne and I were talking about how different things are in London and Paris, and I know you know that she isn’t Catholic, or a “Papist” as the English sometimes call us.”

Eponine snorted at this slur. “Is that a problem?”

“Not for me, and for her not so much,” Neville said. “But what is the difference between an Anglican and a Catholic if they both believe in God and Jesus, and have Masses too?”

‘ _Now there’s one who’s been asking a bit,’_ Eponine realized, taking a moment to try to remember all her readings and study about English matters. “It’s mainly over who answers to who. Anglicans answer to their king or queen in matters of religion, while we have a Pope in Rome,” she said at length. “The other differences such as the bibles and the priests just followed after.”

Neville nodded slowly. “How did it all begin then? They sound like they could have been one and the same before.”

“They were, till a king of theirs, Henry the Eighth I think, decided he wanted to divorce his queen so he could marry another lady who could give him a son to be the next king,” Eponine said. “It’s pretty awful really, since his wife Katherine of Aragon was a Spanish princess while the other lady was one of her own English ladies in waiting named Anne Boleyn.”

“All in the same palace? Then what happened?”

“The king said he was done with following the Pope and went his own way to have everyone in the kingdom follow it too.”

“You mean just because of that he made a decision for _all_ Englishmen and Englishwomen?”

“It’s not so simple as that, but that’s one way of looking at it.”

Neville cringed and shook his head. “I don’t think that would have happened if England were a republic like the way France is now.”

“There is nothing more arrogant than one who designates himself as chief arbiter over a religion, be it through an election of cardinals or inheriting a throne,” Enjolras pointed out, glancing over his shoulder. “Especially if this religion is to become mandatory for all citizens and residents living in a place, as _both_ France, England and even other countries have done so time and again.”

“In the end, Henry the Eighth made an awful hash of it; after he divorced Katherine of Aragon and married Anne Boleyn, he had Anne beheaded anyway. Then he married another lady in his court named Jane Seymour, but she died after giving him a son,” Eponine said, holding up her gloved hand. “Then he married another princess named Anne of Cleves from someplace that is in Prussia now, but he divorced her straight away for not being pretty enough for him. After that he married an English girl named Katherine Howard, but he had her beheaded because of some mess with his courtiers telling him of her love affairs. Finally, he got married to another English noblewoman Catherine Parr, who survived him and went on to write one of the books I was just translating weeks ago.”

Laure, who’d been quiet throughout their walk, now clucked her tongue. “That is a messy story, Maman.”

“It’s not even everything that happened there, and that will take a very long while to tell, _petite,”_ Eponine said.

“It is an excellent argument against having kings and despots,” Enjolras said as they now arrived at the door of the Church of Saint-Sulpice. The family managed to find a pew towards the back of one of the transepts, right in view of the Lady Chapel at the far end of the church. Despite Enjolras and Eponine’s best efforts to seat the children in an orderly fashion, it was not long till the two younger boys settled for sitting on the floor or on the kneeler, instead of having their legs dangle throughout the liturgy.

In the middle of the priest’s homily midway through the Mass, Eponine suddenly felt a tug at her skirt. “What is it, _petit?”_ she whispered, glancing down to meet Julien’s curious gaze.

Julien got to his feet to try to stand on tiptoe in the large pew. “Maman, why is that lady praying rather funny over there?” he asked, pointing to the side chapel.

Eponine craned her neck only to catch sight of a woman wearing a long black robe and a veil, bowing within the Lady Chapel. “I don’t know many people who worship there, but I do know that dress,” she whispered.

“Who is it, Maman?” Julien asked a little more loudly.

“A sorry old lady,” Eponine said, signing for her son to be quiet. She looked to Enjolras, who had now noticed this scene. “You know her too?” she asked him in Occitan.

“Citizenness Gillenormand does go to Mass at this time, unaccompanied or otherwise,” Enjolras said blasely. “Though why in black? Has there been a death?”

‘ _Not of a person perhaps,’_ Eponine realized as she watched Celestine Gillenormand cross herself before practically lying prostrate at a prie-dieu. The sight of this spinster, along with the recollection of the past few days, had her swallowing past a lump she felt in her throat. “It was not her fault, not entirely,” she murmured even as the sermon ended and people got to their feet for the _Credo_ being led by the priest. For the rest of the Mass, she could not help but glance occasionally at the woman who would have been her stepmother, observing as she alternately prayed with her rosary beads or listened to the liturgy. ‘ _I don’t know what to say to her just yet, if she should see us here,’_ she thought.

As fate would have it, just as she and her family were about to depart after Mass, Eponine also caught sight of Celestine Gillenormand departing the Lady Chapel, passing right in front of them. For a moment the spinster stopped in her tracks just to give Eponine a once-over from behind her lace veil, before turning up her nose and hastening away. “Citizenness---” Eponine began by way of greeting, but Celestine Gillenormand had seemingly vanished into the crowd.

“Has she gone blind, or is she pretending not to know you at all?” Jacques asked her.

“It’s not polite to speculate on what a lady says, especially when she doesn’t have a word to say to it,” Eponine reminded him. “Though I do wish she did say something so we could have it out.”

“Not here,” Enjolras pointed out. He touched Eponine’s elbow. “Bossuet is here, with Marthe,” he said in an undertone.

‘ _And lighting a candle,’_ Eponine thought, seeing now their friend and his estranged wife at a stand with several votive candles flickering in the morning breeze. She motioned for Neville and Jacques to keep Laure, Julien and Etienne in check while she and Enjolras went to greet the Lesgles. “Has there been news?” she asked them quietly.

Marthe Lesgle _nee_ Blanchard shook her head before tucking a strand of ash blond hair behind one ear. “We’re only lighting a candle since Hector asked us to do so, for his father’s recovery. We have him, Antigone, and Telemachus staying with our girls till Nicholine can leave poor R’s side for a while,” she explained.

Eponine nodded on hearing the names of the Grantaire children. “I’m glad you were able to take them in. This is such a terrible pass for all of them,” she said.

“R and Nicholine would do the same for us if the Evil Genius had struck otherwise,” Bossuet said wryly. “How bad is it, really? Joly told me you were at the scene and dug R out from the rubble,” he added, now looking to Enjolras.

“Bigger than the explosion at the Palais de Justice weeks ago,” Enjolras replied grimly.

“But to what end?”

“To make a point or a scare.”

‘ _Of course he will not just mention the note to anyone,’_ Eponine thought. “I s’pose I should visit them at the hospital today,” she said.

Bossuet and Marthe exchanged worried looks. “Eponine, that might not be a good idea,” Bossuet whispered. “Nicholine gave us some very clear instructions yesterday when she sent for us to take her children. Those included keeping you and Enjolras away from them, or her and R.”

“For what reason?” Eponine asked.

“She said she didn’t want any more trouble from you and your family,” Marthe said. She tugged at her bonnet before speaking again. “I don’t know what exactly it is you’re doing, but you two might need to stop before you get us all killed!”


	96. The Uncontestable

“ _…you two might need to stop before you get us all killed!”_

Long after the Lesgles had quickly excused themselves, these words still seemingly echoed in Enjolras’ ears. It was such that he did not speak throughout the walk with his family from Saint-Sulpice to the Rue Guisarde. Once inside the house, he waited for the children to head upstairs to change before he nodded to Eponine, who then grabbed his hand to walk with him to their study.

He waited for her to sit on the chaise before he locked the door. “Did Nicholine tell you any words to that effect when you last saw her?” he asked seriously.

“She was in shock, so she didn’t say such a thing that day,” Eponine pointed out as she took off her gloves and doffed her hat. “You shouldn’t let what she says get to you. You know that she’s never been one for trouble.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Yet she went with us to Italy last summer.”

“For Chetta’s sake, and for R’s sake. More of the second than the first, really.” Eponine bit her lip as she patted the seat next to her. “It’s just as natural as my coming after you.”

‘ _Which I did not ask of you,’_ Enjolras thought, now sitting at her side. He touched Eponine’s hand lightly, which prompted her to reach up to rub his shoulders. The familiar roughness of her hand was somehow comforting, prompting him to lean a little into her touch. “R was just at his workplace. The same was true for everyone else in that building or the one next to it,” he began.

Eponine sighed deeply, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Antoine, don’t…”

“Whoever planted that bomb did not care who would be hurt or killed,” he added. “It did not have to be him, or any innocent.”

She bit her lip as she squeezed his shoulders once again. “I s’pose now you want to find out who did it, just to stop all these awful things from happening.”

“Whoever is doing this is covering their tracks very well. This is not the work of a single hand,” he pointed out. He turned to look at her properly, just to take in the sight of her eyes so dark with worry and determination, the determined line of her lips and even the way that her hands now drifted to rest on the swell of her belly. ‘ _She’s escaped harm so far, and it will not be right to keep putting her in the line of danger,’_ he decided silently as he took one of her hands.

Eponine looked down and slipped her fingers in between his. “We’ll figure this out. Like we always have,” she said more confidently.

Enjolras took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he would have to say next. “Eponine, I believe it would be best if you and the children stay in Aix for the time being.”

“What!”

“It will not be long, only until this matter of spies and the primer is resolved and the perpetrators brought to justice.”

Eponine shook her head. “Do you honestly know what you’re asking of me, which is to leave _you_ in the middle of danger? I will not do that sort of thing, ever.”

“Your condition though---”

“Which I’ve gone through _three times_ before. Besides I’d rather give birth to our daughter here in Paris where Combeferre and Joly are, and they know what it’s been like for me in the past.”

Enjolras gritted his teeth at this retort. “What about the boys and Laure?”

“They all have school, except for Tienne of course. If this goes on past Christmas, do you want them to miss the second half of their year at classes?” she asked. “Besides, if the spies are as tricksy as we think, not even being in Aix will do much good for keeping them safe.”

“Over there, my parents and kin can help you.”

“Don’t we have you and all our friends and family here?”

‘ _Many of whom might not wish to be in the line of fire,’_ he thought. “I would much rather have you all safe, especially in such volatile times,” he said slowly. “It would be deplorable to have you endangered when this matter is not one you are directly involved in.”

“Maybe that’s true of the children. If you so insist, then the younger ones could go to Aix at least for part of the winter, which might give us a little time to sort out this rumpus. Neville and Jacques are old enough to decide for themselves, and I s’pose you can guess what they might do if you mention this to them,” Eponine argued. “But for me, I’m staying here. There’s much more good I can do here with you than hiding in Provence. For one thing you never have enough translators on hand, and I’m one of the handiest that you know. And you know I know my way about.”

Enjolras sighed deeply, knowing all too well the resolve in her voice. “I take that I cannot dissuade you?” he asked, lifting her knuckles to his lips to kiss them.

“You know there’s a thousand and one reasons for me to be here in Paris instead of hiding away in the Midi,” Eponine said, her cheeks flushing even as she just managed to keep a level tone. “If I go, there’s also going to be others who’ll get spooked or who you might lose track of with everything. You know that I dare not leave Cosette and her family alone after all this mess with my father. Then you know how Zelma always needs me around time and again.”

“That is true.”

“What’s going to happen to Riva unless he somehow finds his friend that Signor Garibaldi soon? Then it’s not as if the Calamys can take Ariadne with them to England, since they’re also in the thick of it. I s’pose even if we aren’t speaking much with them anymore these days, you’ll need someone to help keep an eye on the Spanish too.

“Does it have to be you?”

“No, but there’s also one more thing. I know you’re not saying it, but you’d like it very much if I stayed here with you.”

‘ _Once again she hits on the truth of it,’_ Enjolras told himself as he closed his eyes for a brief second. “If something should happen to you---” he began, reaching up to brush a stray auburn strand out of her face.

“It will not. I promised I would not let you lose me,” Eponine said, catching his hand when his palm neared her lips. She kissed his fingers before clasping his hand fiercely. “There’s always been so much more that gets done, when we’re in the same place together.”

“Such as?”

“Well there’s shocking a good part of Rome and making news all the way back to Paris. I don’t think anyone will forget that any time soon.”

Enjolras smirked as he leaned in to close the distance between them. “That is one thing I cannot contest,” he said before meeting her halfway with a kiss.


	97. A Place at the Table

Although Eponine tried not to think too much about what Marthe had told her and Enjolras at Saint-Sulpice, the words still felt like a millstone at the back of her mind. “I was looking forward to planning a _big_ Christmas Eve dinner; the first time we had it here there weren’t so many children or visitors about. This year we’re supposed to have everyone, along with Monique and Louis as well as our English friends and even Citizen Riva joining us, but now with what has happened with the Grantaires not wanting us around, I’m not so sure about it at all,” she said morosely to Claudine the next day when the latter came to call at her study with a treatise for translation.

“I know it’s been rather difficult this year, but we have to keep up the celebration if only for the youngsters’ sakes,” Claudine reasoned. “As for Nicholine, I’ll have a word with her when she’s in a better frame of mind---which will surely happen when Grantaire is more recovered.”

“I s’pose you’re right,” Eponine said with a sigh. “I just didn’t think that Nicholine could say such a thing.”

“Did Nicholine say all of that to your face and Enjolras’ yesterday?”

“No. Marthe was the one who told us, on her behalf.”

Claudine frowned pensively for a moment. “I think it’s _Marthe_ we should have a word with; you and I know that Nicholine would not do something that Grantaire wouldn’t approve of, such as cutting off any contact with _your_ husband.”

It was all that Eponine could do to keep a straight face at the memory of her conversation with Nicholine at the atelier so many weeks ago. “It doesn’t make sense that Marthe would say that. It isn’t her place to do so.”

“That’s what is troubling me most,” Claudine muttered. “We’ll get to that in time. Is there anything I can help you with for planning the Christmas Eve dinner?”

“Just for one of the desserts; we’re having a Yule log, and Monique has agreed to bring two kinds of nougat but that still leaves _ten_ more desserts to think of,” Eponine replied. “It doesn’t have to be all of fruits, as if we were actually celebrating in Aix. Some pastries or other sweets would do just as nicely.”

“What of the seven courses that are traditionally served?” Claudine asked. “Do you plan to adhere even to that?”

“Yes, but with some changes to better suit Paris,” Eponine said more cheerily. “I’ve thought of it, we shall start with a _soupe aigo-saou_ , which as you know is made of fish just so we won’t ruin our appetites so early. Then we shall have chicken sausages, which are so Parisian, and a _cod brandade_ \---only that I will make it this time, just to spare Monique the trouble of dealing with still more fish. I’ll also get a good roast rump that will go so nicely with the puffed potatoes that the children all seem to like, and a hotpot of beans and cabbages. It’s just too bad that vegetables are so dear here in Paris at this time of the year, or we’d have some nice salads as well.”

“Is anyone going to help you with that?”

“Azelma will, and Cosette offered a hand too.”

“Well let me know if you need my kitchen,” Claudine said gamely. “As for the translation, you can just drop it off at Combeferre’s office at the Sorbonne when you are finished.”

“I’d rather go myself to Picpus and give it to you since it might get lost in all the papers and things that he has there,” Eponine quipped.

“Unfortunately you are right about that.” Claudine sighed as she stood up and gave her friend a once-over. “Do take care of yourself, Eponine. You’re almost at the cusp of things, where that baby is concerned.”

“I can’t wait for it to be all over, to be honest,” Eponine said, patting her stomach. “It would be nice to see my feet more easily again.”

Claudine laughed ruefully as she tied on her bonnet. “You’ll get through it well enough. I’ll see you soon, even before Christmas.”

‘ _At the rate things are going, maybe even this week,’_ Eponine thought even as she saw her friend to the front door. After this she sat at her desk to peruse her upcoming work, all the while listening for Etienne playing in the next room. “If it’s just Marthe saying those things, why would she do so?” she wondered aloud. “And even if Nicholine does feel that way about everything, is it Marthe’s place to say so?”

At that moment, Etienne ran into the study. “Maman, Auntie Sette outside!” he chirped.

‘ _And with Victoria too,’_ Eponine realized, peering out the window only to see that her best friend was not alone. She carefully set the translation inside a desk drawer before getting up to let in her visitors. “You’re just in time for lunch,” she greeted them.

“Actually we thought we’d bring you out to lunch,” Victoria said, looking out of breath as she adjusted her cuffs. “There’s an important matter we need to see to right away, but prepare for before we are summoned.”

Eponine paused on feeling Etienne tug at the hem of her skirt. “What’s happening?” she asked Cosette. “Something terrible.”

“I hope not, but it is something about translations; the Home Office wanted to get a hold of Marius, but he has a hearing today so I’m stepping in instead,” Cosette explained sheepishly. “It is connected to that primer Enjolras has edited.”

“Which is supposed to be in print,” Eponine pointed out. ‘ _At least as safely as Lamarre can manage,’_ she thought, biting her lip before she could run on this thought. “We’ll see the results of it shortly, you know.”

“Which is precisely why you must come with us; that primer is going many places and we need to be prepared,” Victoria said more agitatedly, looking around as if she was afraid they were being watched. “Take Etienne with us if need be; Ariadne should meet us shortly and will be able to mind him. There is not a moment to lose!”


	98. Unity and Disunity

“Is that what Marthe actually said?”

“Word for word.”

Combeferre frowned as he wiped his spectacles. “Nicholine has always been on the apprehensive side of matters, but she has never said outright that she forbade any contact with anyone of us friends. At least that was my impression the last time I visited her and Grantaire last night during my rounds. On the contrary, Grantaire has been asking for you.”

Enjolras nodded somberly at these words as he sat back in his seat at his Palais de Justice office. “Perhaps Marthe had simply misinterpreted something,” he suggested. “Would it be wise to reach out to Nicholine and Grantaire, discreetly at least?”

“I will speak with Nicholine first,” Combeferre said sagaciously. “Knowing her, some calming down will be needed, and I will need to see if Grantaire is ready to have visitors.”

‘ _Which may not be for a while yet,’_ Enjolras reflected silently for a few moments. “You said that Grantaire has been asking for me?”

“Deliriously. I would not think much of it.”

“Is that really the case, Combeferre?”

The physician sighed deeply. “Have you really been so oblivious all these years as to how Grantaire has felt where you are concerned?”

“What about it?”

“It is the reason that he seeks you out.”

‘ _In his wife’s hearing, of all places,’_ Enjolras thought, feeling his stomach twist at the image of a bandage-swathed Grantaire shouting while Nicholine stood by with a stricken expression. “Then what would you have me do?”

Combeferre looked down for a moment. “At the moment, there is nothing to be done. His physical recovery supersedes all other concerns,” he said at length. “As to whether you should speak of it to him in the future, I have two points of view on that.”

“As a physician and as a friend, I take it?”

“From a physician’s standpoint, such a conversation might have a profound effect on his spirits, which if ill timed could set back his recuperation. From the standpoint of a friend, I advise you to consider the effect this will have not only on your friendship with Grantaire, but even the effect this will have on his family.”

“Would you suggest then that I simply remain silent, as I have done in the past?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Silent to keep an uneasy peace,” Combeferre muttered, shaking his head even as a knock sounded on the office door. “If I didn’t know better I’d think this was a salon and not a law office,” he quipped.

Enjolras smirked as he got to his feet and crossed the room to open the door, only to find a gangly boy standing in the hall, holding a sealed letter. “Who is this from?” he asked.

“Citizen Lamarre needs you at the Home Office,” the messenger said, scratching his head. “He said it was very important and that you would have to come straightaway, even bring you with me if I must.”

‘ _Some new development,’_ Enjolras thought as he broke the fresh wax seal on the envelope and brought out a missive with these words:

_Dear friend,_

_There is now a question regarding disseminating the finished work. A most fortuitous forum has come up that may facilitate this, but this requires some delicate handling._

_Come right away._

_A.L_

In the meantime, Combeferre had already silently gotten to his feet. “Shall I walk with you to your destination?” he asked in an undertone.

Enjolras nodded as he began packing his papers into his satchel. “It would be safer,” he concurred, motioning for his friend to follow him out the door and down the stairs. The two men remained silent all throughout the walk to the Hotel De Ville, up until they were admitted into the premises of the Home Office.

Upon entering an anteroom, they saw Riva and LeClerc already sitting there, smoking cigars. “This is also a new development,” Enjolras deadpanned as he and Combeferre found seats.

“A present from Havana,” LeClerc said with a grin. “Do either of you smoke?”

“Rarely,” Combeferre replied, taking a cigar that Riva held out to him. He smiled as he turned it over in his hands to examine the label. “Far more convenient than pipes, in my opinion.”

Enjolras shook his head when LeClerc handed him the cigar box. “I take that you have a friend who has stopped in Cuba _en route_ here?” he said, eyeing Riva knowingly.

The young Italian nodded. “Havana was one of his ports of call. He did not say when he would attempt the crossing to the Continent, since I highly doubt that he would stop in England.”

“It is clever for Garibaldi to send this form of proof of life, but there is a problem we must consider,” LeClerc chimed in. “I am not sure if you are aware, but _Signor_ Giuseppe Garibaldi was born in Nice. That territory was historically under Savoy, but has reverted to Piedmont-Sardinia following Bonaparte’s reign,” he said, addressing Enjolras and Combeferre.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow. “Does France still have an interest in regaining governance over that county?”

“Yes, and of course _Signor_ Garibaldi would be intent on ensuring that Nice remains under a unified Italy,” Riva argued. “This should not even be up for contention.”

“Yet many people living in Nice have French roots going back for generations. In a sense, they are more akin to French than Piedmont. The same can also be said of Savoy, which has also been under Piedmont-Sardinia these past decades, but has historical and geographical ties to France,” LeClerc pointed out.

Riva shook his head. “Savoy was an independent duchy too, with a power of protection over Nice. This should be respected.”

Enjolras held up a hand, seeing that LeClerc was beginning to redden. “The resolution of this should be determined by the inhabitants of those areas,” he said firmly. “It may be that they may decide to become French citizens or Italian citizens; let that be of their own making. Then if they desire self-governance as an individual state, then they should not be prohibited from doing so.”

“Savoy is hardly in a state to hold itself against the competing interests of its neighbors,” LeClerc said flatly. “A kingdom or duchy of its size is very vulnerable especially with its strategic location along border of France and Italy.”

“But one cannot force that situation---” Riva trailed off before looking to Enjolras. “Either way someone is not going to like this outcome.”

“This is why diplomacy should be a science in itself,” Combeferre said before looking to where footsteps were approaching the anteroom door. “Now who else was invited to this meeting, and where is Lamarre?”

“Not with us, if that’s what you are asking,” Eponine said, now entering with Victoria and Cosette in tow. She paused as she looked first at Enjolras, Combeferre, then at LeClerc and Riva. “This looks like Italy all over again.”

“But is more than Italy,” Enjolras said, getting up to give her his seat. He handed the note to her as she sat down. “You can guess what this is about.”

“The primer again. Victoria told me,” Eponine said, nodding to her friends.

“It appears to be more than the primer,” Victoria replied. “There is much that needs to be discussed, especially with Italy somehow coming together.”

“Discussed, as in face to face?” Cosette asked.

“A convention, a follow up to the Concert of Europe, only with much more sense and respect for liberty than Metternich’s iteration,” LeClerc said. “Lamarre is off finalizing something about it, but it will mean inviting every government on the continent, and England as well.”

‘ _Governments which have cause to worry after the events of last summer,’_ Enjolras thought. “Where will this be?” he asked the diplomat.

“Where else to best discuss liberty but in a city so watered by it?” LeClerc said. “Unless something comes up, Paris will be hosting it just after the new year!”


End file.
